


Easier Done Than Said

by idelthoughts



Series: Mortinez Fics [2]
Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: ...And Third and Fourth and Fifth Time, Alcohol, And Second Time, Conveniently Locking Lab Doors, Dubious Consent, F/M, First Time, Mild Angst, Sex Pollen, Very Thin Plot, accidentally drugged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-13 17:51:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5711545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting out of a locked room and stopping a murder is a lot easier when you can keep your hands to yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I signed up for kink bingo ages ago, and this started out as a square fill for smoking/intoxicants/aphrodisiacs. Now I just have writers block and I'm trying to bulldoze through it with some good trashy fic. So, bring it on.
> 
> I'm not sure how many chapters it'll be, but I'm guessing three. Also, Jo doesn't know about Henry's immortality in this one.
> 
> Thanks to pinkelephant5 for looking this over for me!

Jo finished her search of the files in the office desk drawers.  Empty.  No sign of an appointment book, nothing to indicate where their killer might be headed next.

“I didn’t find any—“  

She stopped and looked around.  The office was empty, as was her view out the open doorway.

“Henry?” she called.  She left the sparsely furnished office into the clinical laboratory beyond.

The clinical trials facility for Milton-Finch Co. took up four floors of a building in Midtown.   This lab, the site of a murder two days prior, was still shut down and roped off for crime scene analysis.  Henry had told her he was going to have a look around the lab to see what he could find, and next thing she knew…

“Every single time, Henry.  ‘Stay put’ means _stay put_ ,” she muttered to herself.

She crossed the lab and pushed through the doors into the corridor beyond.  They were closed for the day and the halls were empty.

“Henry?”  she called.

Jo hedged her bets and headed to the right towards the other labs, looking through the glass windows on the doors.  Most were darkened, but up ahead she saw one with a light on up ahead.

“—you were running out of time, weren’t you, Dr. Tiwari?”

 _Damn it, Henry.  If you find the killer, you come get me_ , Jo cursed silently.  She drew her gun and quieted her footsteps, edging close to the lab door, Henry’s voice gaining volume and becoming more distinct as she neared.

“That’s why you killed him, why you killed Dr. Parsons.  He was about to expose the results you hid, the patients with side effects you swept under the rug.”

“It was a sleep aid!  Any overdose of a sleep aid is going to be harmful.  They were overreacting.”

“A patient is dead.  Dr. Parsons is dead.”

Jo crept closer and risked a look, peering through the edge of the door window.  Henry was facing Dr. Tiwari.  She had one of the lab benches between her and Henry, defensively clutching a bag in front of her, a hand inside it.  Henry was strolling along the length of the bench, hands behind his back and chin raised like a lecturer.  He gave no appearance of concern, that he was facing a woman who’d killed once, and was likely gunning for her other partner in the medical testing scandal for their recently FDA approved sleep aid, Athenod.  

“You covered up the results of the patient’s death, and you told Parsons and Eustace to lie, to keep it quiet.  But Dr. Parsons couldn’t live with the death on his conscience, nor the potential for many more deaths to come once the FDA approved Athenod.  That’s why you invited them to the lab that night.  That’s why you decided to poison them both.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,”  Tiwari said.

She sounded like she was hanging by a thin thread, and Henry was holding the pair of scissors that was going to sever it.  Henry continued on, too far into the self-satisfied glow of his narrative exposition to notice and heed the warning tone of her voice.

“But Eustace wasn’t here that night, was he?  He knew what you were planning, and he didn’t come.”  Henry walked like he had not a care in the world, continuing to expound upon her findings.

Her other partner, Dr. Lionel Eustace, had been caught fleeing the city in terror when Parsons turned up dead.  Tiwari had proven herself fast and devious, poisoning Parsons with an aerosol spray, thereby leaving no injection site and making it look like a heart attack.  

Jo was braced and ready to push through the door and charge in, but Henry had put himself in the line of fire between Jo and Tiwari.  She wanted this clean and fast, so she cursed quietly and waited for Henry to turn and continue his unconcerned stroll back the other way.

“You’re very sure of yourself for a man who’s here all alone,”  Tiwari said.

The tone of her voice pricked at Jo’s danger sense.  She glanced through the window.  Tiwari was pulling her hand from her bag, and had a handgun clenched in her fist.  

No more time to wait.

Jo flung the door open and twisted through, her gun raised.

“Dr. Tiwari, drop the gun!”

Henry twisted around, eyes wide, his hands half-raised, and he stumbled back a few steps to get out of her way and give her a clean line of sight.

Behind him, Tiwari panicked and squeezed off a shot.  She obviously had no skills with a gun—the kickback of the weapon bucked the gun in her hand and sent the shot wild, smashing glass behind Jo.  Jo ducked down, but Henry straightened up, waving his hands frantically at Tiwari.  

“Dr. Tiwari, please put your weapon down!” Henry shouted.  “Please, stop!  There’s been enough bloodshed!”

“I’m not going to prison!  I’m not giving Lionel the satisfaction!  I’m going to make sure he pays for ruining everything!”

She aimed at Henry, who stood there like a foolish deer in the headlights.

“Henry, get down!”  Jo shouted.

Jo leapt at him, tackled him mid-torso and knocked him to the ground.  He grunted as she landed on him and forced the air out of him.  Above them, Tiwari’s shot hit the bench top and exploded a series of heavy duty glass containers, setting a shower of powder and glass spraying into the air.  Jo didn’t waste time on an apology to Henry, but scrambled to her knees and hunched against the side of the bench to brace herself for another shot.  Henry lay flat on his back, gasping and trying to regain his breath, having caught the worst of it.  He coughed and wheezed at the acrid powder in the air.  Jo blinked away the tears from her burning eyes—whatever the stuff was, she hoped it wasn’t toxic.

Tiwari was running for the door—she came around the end of the laboratory bench.  Jo sighted Tiwari’s shoulder and fired, but the bullet missed her by scant inches and punched a silver hole in the heavy metal door.  Tiwari screeched in terror, slipping through the door and slamming it behind her.  Henry sprang up and scrambled after her, but it was too late.  There was the unmistakable sound of a bolt sliding into a lock before Henry pitched up against the door.

“She’s locking us in!”  

Jo caught a last look of Tiwari’s frantic face before she fled.  Her muffled footsteps pounded down the hall and faded away, leaving Jo and Henry in the silent laboratory with the only exit locked tight.

Jo pushed herself upright and joined Henry by the door.  He had his face pressed to the window to try and follow Tiwari, but pushed off the door with a frustrated sigh once she was out of sight.

“She’s going to try and kill Dr. Eustace.  She’s gone far beyond careful planning now; she has nothing left to lose.  If she finds him, she’ll shoot him.”

“I’ll call Hanson and give him the heads up.  We can get her when she makes a try for Eustace.”

Jo dug in her pocket and pulled out her phone and immediately groaned in frustration.  The phone display was smashed.  When she’d tackled Henry it had hit the ground with her full weight on it.  Hopefully she thumbed the button to see if she might get at least one call out of it, but no luck.  It was completely dead.

“Or not,” Henry finished.  

“Damn it, Henry!  I wish for once you would listen to me.  This is the kind of thing that happens when you go running off by yourself!”  She blinked several times to clear her watering eyes, which were still burning from the powder in the air.

“I’m sorry, Jo.”  Henry grimaced with a repentant nod of his head, accepting her rebuke. He coughed again, then wiped at his streaming eyes.  “We should wash up immediately.  We were exposed to multiple compounds when those containers shattered.”

“We have to get out of here and warn them that Tiwari is coming after Eustace,” Jo said.  

“We won’t be able to help anyone if we’re incapacitated.”  

Henry took her by the elbow and pulled her to an emergency eye-wash station.  Jo spent a very unpleasant minute over a sink flushing her eyes and washing any residue from her hair while Henry found the ventilation fans and cleared the air in the lab.  When she was done, Henry took his turn washing up, scrubbing his hands through his hair under the cold water to get the grit out of it.  

He hissed as a small fragment of glass caught in the strands nicked his finger.  A bright red bead welled up on the pad of his forefinger.

“Let me see,”  Jo said.

“Just a small cut,” Henry said.  

He offered her his finger as proof, and she took his hand.  For a small cut it was bleeding heavily, and she dug in her pocket for a tissue from the little packet she kept with her.  She wrapped it around his finger and pressed it to staunch the bleeding.

“Why thank you, Dr. Martinez.”  Henry smiled at her.

“Field medicine is my specialty,” she said, bringing her other hand under his to cradle it while she pinched his finger.  “Can’t have you bleeding to death on my watch.”

Henry leaned towards her, lowering his voice and giving her a lopsided smile.

“Don’t worry, I’ve survived worse.”

“I’m sure you have,” she said dryly.

Henry paused, licking his lip as he looked her over, and his gaze settled on their hands.

“Now, to find a way out of here.”  Henry took over holding the tissue to his finger and turned away to make a circuit of the room.

Jo rubbed her face vigorously to bring her attention back to the matter at hand.  They needed to get out of here and contact Hanson, make sure they stopped Tiwari before she reached Eustace.  Lives were at stake, and this was important.  

More important than flirting over an eye-wash station, for example.  Besides, she was still irritated with Henry for getting them into this mess in the first place.  It would take more than his quirky _“I’m a man of mystery”_ routine to get him out of that dog-house quickly.

“Jo, look at this.”  

Henry was staring up at the ceiling at the two large vents which were still humming loudly as they filtered the laboratory air.  Jo joined him.

“Air vents.  What about them?”

“The air filtration system is capacious enough to clean this entire room in two minutes,” Henry said, pointing up at the top three feet of the side wall that separated them from the corridor.  “That means the vents must move a great deal of air quickly—they’ll be large enough to crawl through if we can remove the external panels.”

“Or I could try shooting the lock out of the door,” she countered.  “The windows are too small to crawl through, so no point trying for them, but I might be able to get through the lock mechanism.”

“Lacks elegance, but may work.”

“Like crawling through a vent is elegant,” she snorted and shoved him with her elbow.

She hoped this worked, because if she was going to spend the next half hour of her life trying to squeeze into a ventilation shaft and wriggle her way through it, she was going to regret every ab workout she’d skipped this past year.  However, the image of Henry trying to worm his way through was enough to make her giggle aloud.  Henry chuckled with her and put a hand on her lower back as he walked back towards the door with her.  

She didn’t hear Henry laugh all that often, and it was a nice sound, smooth and soft.  His hand on her back was warm, and he was rubbing his thumb in a very distracting way that sent a little jolt up her spine and made her head sway.  Jo missed a step, catching herself a little late and jostling Henry with her shoulder.  He braced his arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.  A little dizzy, I think.”

“Here, let me see.”  Henry directed her around to peer into her face and frowned.  “Jo, your pupils are dilated, and your skin is flushed.  How do you feel?”  

He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, and then to her cheek.  She did feel a little too warm, now that he mentioned it, and concentrating was getting difficult, especially with Henry touching her this much.  One hand was on her waist, the knuckles of his other were burning hot against her cheek.  

“I’m fine,” she said.

Henry stared at her hard, his brow knit in a slightly puzzled expression.  He wiped his hand across his forehead and then rubbed his fingers together.  He was sweating too, and when she looked in his eyes, the dark brown of his irises were only a thin ring around large pupils.

“Jo, it may be a priority for us to get out of here and seek medical attention.”

She swallowed and nodded.  She took a step back from him and unholstered her gun.

“Okay, stand back, I’m going to give this a try.”

Jo widened her stance as Henry took a spot behind her, and she emptied the gun clip into the door around the lock.  The sound was deafening in the enclosed space, and when she was done a series of bullet holes peppered the heavy metal door.  She pushed her weight against the door but it didn’t move.  Henry joined her and they both threw themselves against it together.  It still didn’t budge.

“Okay,” Jo puffed, leaning against the door to catch her breath.  “I guess it’s elegant ventilation shaft time.”

“Yes.  We’ll need something to pry the cover loose, and something to stand on.”  Henry pulled his tie knot loose and unbuttoned the collar beneath.

He smiled at her briefly, and though it was likely supposed to be reassuring, it looked pained.  Before she could ask, Henry pushed off the door and walked away at a hurried pace, scanning for something to use as a tool in loosening the vent cover.  The back of his vest, a shiny gold fabric, was stained by water or sweat, and the seat of his pants was dusty from where he’d been knocked to the ground.  

Even rumpled and dirty he looked pretty good—which Jo noted with a tilt of her head as Henry squatted down to look in a cupboard, the pull of cloth emphasizing the curve of his—  

 _Later, Martinez_ , she chastised herself, blinking and refocusing her attention to look for something they could use to pry off the covers.

That was getting way too common these days, her standing back and watching Henry do his thing, appreciating the view as much as the entertainment.  He loved to be flashy and clever, and she was way too indulgent in encouraging him by giving him an audience for his ridiculous behaviour.  But, he was cute when he wasn’t damned annoying.  Obviously ogling his butt while on the clock was a little over the line, but that didn’t stop her sneaking a last look back at him as he stuck his head in a cupboard.

At the end of the lab near a fume hood, Jo found a small corner with cleaning supplies, including a mop and broom.  She picked up the mop and sized up the handle, which would stretch to the ceiling.  She unscrewed the mop head from the handle and threw it back in the corner.

“Hey, Henry, what about this?”

Henry stood and looked over at her, and gave a dubious glance towards the vent, but nodded.

“If we can dent the cover and buckle the edge, maybe we can—can pry the…”  Henry blinked hard at her, trailing off.

“Henry?  Henry, are you okay?”  Jo trotted over to him and around the bench, dropping the handle to the floor.  “Hey, talk to me.”

“Nothing,” he said reflexively, then laughed weakly.  “Obviously not nothing, but nothing life-threatening.  I just need a moment.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Water would be good.  And I’d advise you to get a glass as well, we’re both losing a lot of fluid.”

Jo left him and went to find a sink.  All she could find was a cabinet full of beakers and test tubes, and she held up two to Henry in askance as he stripped off his waistcoat and untucked his shirt.

“Yes, anything in there will be sterilized.”

At the sink, she took a moment to splash some water on her face before she filled the two beakers for them.  Henry had gotten a faceful of whatever they’d been exposed to, and it seemed like it was hitting him harder than her.  As it was, she was feeling rough herself; every inch of her skin was starting to crawl, like she’d had too much coffee and every nerve was rubbed raw.  Her blouse was drenched with sweat beneath her jacket, and she shucked off the stifling extra layer and left it on the edge of the sink before she grabbed up the beakers full of water.

Henry took the water from her hand and downed it in one go, head thrown back as he drained the glass.  The muscles in his neck were taught, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, and Jo followed the line of his neck down to the open vee of his shirt, to the skin of his chest—

She shifted away from that daydream, because really, this was not the time.  Not that her body or mind seemed willing to cooperate.

Henry braced his hands on the lab bench and hung his head, breathing deeply. Jo put a hand between his shoulder blades.  He was feverish hot through the damp shirt, and when she touched him he sucked in a deep breath, shivering.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Henry?”

He turned so that her hand slid off him, and he reached for the mop handle she’d put down and smiled at her reassuringly.

“Yes, just need to focus on the task at hand.” He pointed to the beaker still in her other hand. “Drink your water, Jo.”

“My—oh, right.”

She drank down the glass as quickly as Henry had.  The cold water helped a little, but she still felt overheated and uncomfortable.  All her senses were in overdrive; the sound of Henry’s breath was loud, matched by the rushing of her throbbing pulse in her her ears. The smell of his sweat and cologne were sharp and bright over the antiseptic sterility of the lab, and her clothes were rasping and itchy to her sensitized skin. She scratched at the collar of her shirt and chafing bra straps, wishing she could ditch the bra as well.

Henry positioned himself beneath the vents, mop handle by his side like a spear and his shirt tails hanging loose. It was as casual as she’d ever seen him, save for that NYPD-issued sweatsuit walk of shame from Reece’s office. He stood back and eyed the vents.

“Very well then, the brute force approach to start,” he said.

“We’re going to need to be a bit higher up to get any strength behind it.”

Jo grabbed a stool next to her and joined Henry. She put it next to him and patted the top of it. It had a wide base and was sturdy and he grinned at her as he swung a knee up to get atop it, hoisting himself up. His smile shifted as he faltered and swayed to the side. The mop handle clattered to the floor as Henry toppled off with a surprised cry.

“Whoa!” Jo leapt forward and braced him before he went completely over, catching him around the torso.

“Damn. I’m sorry, Jo.” He grabbed hold of her shoulders to steady himself, cursing under his breath.

“Don’t worry about it. Saving your butt is becoming my full time job, I’m getting used to it by now.”

“No, I mean…” He floundered for words for a moment, then looked in her eyes. “I’m sorry about all of this. I never meant to put you in harm’s way.”

He was obviously disoriented, his pupils still unnaturally large and his cheeks ruddy. He wasn’t doing well, and she should be focusing on that instead of the fact that the look he was giving was better suited to having him pinned to a bed underneath her than a conversation between colleagues. She tried to ignore the heat of his hands on her shoulders, and the very obvious way his eyes were fixed on her mouth. She threw her concern for him into irritation, fuelled by the distracting, relentless desire to touch him and press herself against him.

“Then stop putting yourself in harm’s way, Henry. We’re supposed to be a team, and I can’t look out for you if you keep running off.”

“Old habits die hard,” he murmured, and swayed a little closer to her. “I’m not used to having a partner.”

“Well you’ve got one now,” she said, lifting her chin. “So remember that next time before you leave me behind.”

“I’ll try, I promise.”

He smiled at her and pushed a strand of her hair back from her face. His head tilted to the side, his expression soft and slightly vacant as he watched his fingers move through her hair, then along her neck. Everywhere that his hands had touched her, were touching her, burned with a sensitive jangle of nerves. She shivered, and he dipped his head closer, his panting breath hot against her face.

He was going to kiss her.

The shock of the realization was enough to make her blink out of the stupor she’d fallen into.

“Henry?”

“Mm?”

In a gesture of last-minute sensibility, she stuck her hand between their nearing faces. Henry’s nose bumped into her palm. He jerked back in surprise, a confused frown on his face, then he seemed to take stock of the situation and released her, taking a few steps back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Half of her—most of her—was screaming at her to get him back over here, and what was she thinking stopping him? She wanted to take all her clothes off and have sex right here on the laboratory floor, escaped murderers and chemical exposures be damned. It seemed like a sound plan.  The _best_ plan.

Except this wasn’t her usual style. It certainly wasn’t Henry’s.

“Henry, do you think that whatever-it-was made us a little, um…”

“Yes, I think it may have,” Henry said.

Jo had to forcibly stop herself from following him and reaching out to him. She gulped as she tried to calm the fluttering adrenaline making her insides curdle with excitement, while Henry closed his eyes and took three long, slow breaths before he opening them again.

“How’s your balance? Are you able to get up there?” he asked.

His tone was calm and relaxed, and she wondered how he pulled that off. She was so turned on she could barely stand up straight.

“Yeah, I think so.”

She stooped and grabbed up the pole and carefully climbed up on the stool, getting her balance before she aimed the handle. However, on the first strike against the vent cover, the jarring impact set her teetering. She caught herself, but it was a near thing.

“I think you’re going to need to brace me,” she said over her shoulder.

Henry shifted on his feet, his expression twisted up in distress for a moment, and then he nodded stiffly.

“Right. Yes.”

He stood next to the stool looking up at her, and after a few moments of trying to decide exactly where to put his hands, he grabbed each side of her hips and hooked his thumbs into her belt. He braced his shoulder against the back of her thigh and widened his stance. His cheek was against her leg, his damp hair curling against the black jeans. He didn’t look up at her, kept his eyes fixed on the wall in front of them.

“Okay, go.”

 _Don’t think about it, don’t think about it_ , she chanted over and over to herself, in time with each ramming strike of the mop handle against the vent. Don’t think about his arms holding her hips steady, his head against her thigh, or maybe his head _between_ her thighs, that’d be nice…

She slammed the wooden handle against the vent cover again with a frustrated grunt. It was flattened and splintered into a blunt, frayed flower on the end, but aside from some chipped paint, the vent cover was unharmed. Did she keep going or not?

Henry was nuzzling her thigh now. It was a soft and subtle move, and she glanced down to see his eyes were closed. She wasn’t sure if he knew he was doing it. She grit her teeth and looked up at the vent.

_Don’t think about it, don’t think about it…_

After a few more strikes and Henry’s fiery body heat seeping through her jeans distracting her, she tossed the handle down to the ground.

“This isn’t working. I’m coming down,” she said to Henry.

After a second he nodded and pulled away from her. As she climbed down, Henry leaned against the wall and let out an explosive breath, like he’d just emerged from holding his breath underwater. His head thunked back against the wall.

“We need—we need to find another way…” he panted, eyes closed. “I just need to think. I wish I could _think_.”

Henry slid down the wall to sit and grimaced as he hit the ground. He shifted uncomfortably for a bit, tugging at his trousers, and soon it became obvious why; his tight tailored suit pants did not easily allow for—or hide—the erection he was sporting.

“What should we do?” she asked. She swallowed, prodding herself to look away, but she couldn’t.

“I know what I _want_ to do. I don’t think it’s appropriate at this juncture.” He laughed weakly.

“I know what you mean. Me too,” she confessed.

He glanced up at her with hope, or something like it, before he caught himself and looked away again.

“We should look for tools—screwdrivers, saws, anything like that,” he said, scanning the lab. “Try for a more refined approach.”

“I’ll take one half of the lab, you take the other?” she said, but the words felt far away, like she was in a fog and hearing her voice from elsewhere.

“Agreed.”

She automatically stuck out her hand to offer him help up. As soon as his hand slid against hers, her mouth turned cottony dry and her muscles trembled like she was on an adrenaline high. She countered his weight, pulling overly hard. He staggered upright and knocked into her.

He smelled _amazing_. Beyond amazing; incredible. Maybe he tasted better. She—

“Jo?” Henry’s strangled voice seeped through her distracted thoughts.

She’d crowded him back against the wall and buried her nose in the crook of his neck, breathing deep.  His hand tightly gripped in hers was pinned between their stomachs as she leaned on him. Her skin was on fire everywhere his body touched hers, and he was painfully hard against her hip. She shifted against him and he grunted, then it turned to a frustrated whine. He closed his eyes and his head fell forward until his lips were by her ear.

“Jo.  I won’t say no.”

She swallowed hard and forced herself to think beyond the deep, throaty sound of Henry’s voice, the smell of his sweat and sweet cologne filling her head, and the ache of her oversensitive body.

“That’s not the same thing as yes,” she managed.

“No, it isn’t. We’re not thinking straight.” His mouth was so close his lips touched the edge her ear.

“Yeah, I know.” She leaned her head against his. He was burning hot, and so was she.

“Hardly fair,” he murmured, moving his head so his lips brushed along her earlobe. She shuddered and her knees loosened, resting more of her weight on him. “You have no idea how much I want you. On my very best days that is something I think about. Right now, I can’t think of anything else. You’re so beautiful, Jo. So very beautiful.”

“That’s not helping, Henry.”

She breathed the words against his neck and he sighed, a deep sound that settled into her ear right next to his confessions and further dissolved her self-control. It wouldn’t be hard to kiss him. Turn her head to the side, catch his mouth. He had a gorgeous mouth. She took a deep, shuddering breath.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry.

It took everything she had to push off him and step back. Neither of them wanted to let go, but eventually Henry dropped her hand.

He stared fixedly at the ground between them and pointed to his right.

“I’m going to go over there and start looking.”

He turned and hurried away from her, and she squinted after him for a moment before she remembered what they were looking for, and why he was leaving. Tools.  The vent. Right. Jo turned her back on him started for the opposite end of the lab to search cupboards and drawers. Their steps away from each other were purposeful, like they were taking measured steps in a duel.

She focused on the urgency of their situation to counter whatever hormonal mess was going on with her. Escaped murderer, then medical attention.

How did you even explain this to an EMT? _Please help, I might be terminally horny._

She giggled, then covered her mouth to stifle the sound. She was barely in control as it was; if she started laughing she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get anything done.

Escaped murderer, medical attention. Cupboards. Screwdriver, screws. _Screwing Henry, right now, as hard as possible._

This was going to be a very long day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get personal.

Henry opened another drawer full of extra labels for slides and samples jars. His first instinct was to rip it out of its tracks and throw it on the floor like a child having a temper tantrum, but he forced himself to shut it and move to the next one.

Early in his return to medicine, he’d had an autopsy file that involved an excessive dose of the vasodilator Sildenafil—something that Abe had known far too much about when Henry had mentioned it that night, and he’d eventually begged Abe to stop talking about the wonder-drug that was _Viagra_. Henry’s relationship with scientific curiosity being what it was, he took some to assess the influence of it himself. He spent the next four hours having an erection whenever his mind wandered in even remotely salacious directions, not to mention any time he so much as bumped his groin or shifted his clothes.  It was to the point that he was certain even a passing breeze was enough to set him off.

While annoying, it had been harmless. His mind had been clear, whereas this? This was the most intolerable form of torture he’d ever endured.

Henry pulled open another drawer—cleaning wipes and absorbent towels. He slammed it shut and cursed out loud, then covered his face with shaking hands and took a deep breath to try and calm himself.

It was no help. He was haunted by hints of her deodorant and shampoo, the tang of body scent; it was in his clothes, on his hands, in the air. His groin throbbed impatiently as his head swam, and he sank down to sit on the floor, which was beautifully cool. He gave up on dignity and stretched out on the linoleum, sighing in relief as it sucked heat from his feverish body.

He pulled his pocket watch out and put his fingers to the pulse point on his neck, counting silently for half a minute. His pulse was high, but not dangerously so. He’d been checking periodically over the last half hour since they’d been stuck in here, and it had stabilized after the first racing thrill. At least they were unlikely to die from whatever this was.

“Henry? Where are you?” Jo called from the other side of the room.

Even her _voice_ was appealing, like her words were a physical caress.

“I’m here. The floor is cold. I recommend it.”

There were sounds of shuffling, then a small sigh.

He was instantly rewarded with the image of her on the floor, hair spread about her in a fanning halo of dark waves, breasts soft and round beneath the drape of her thin blouse; long, slim legs that would wrap around him if he were on her, in her, heels digging into his thighs, fingernails scraping his back—

“Hey, Henry?”

“Yes?”

“We’re supposed to be looking for something to get the vent off.”

“Ah. So we are.”

He pinched the inside of his arm, and it smarted just enough to sharpen his attention. Time to move to the next row of benches. Only two more on his side and he’d meet Jo at the middle. Jo, with her apple cheeks and heart-shaped face and full lips; in his younger days, he’d have written odes to her beauty, murmuring poetry to her as he wooed her, stealing kisses when he could, wherever he could…

Henry squeezed the bridge of his nose and struggled to bring himself back to reality. He needed to concentrate, but he kept losing himself in the hazy fog of lust at every turn.

He staggered upright again and tugged at clothes to try and find comfort, but to no avail. With a frustrated huff he stuck his hands in his trousers to shift his erection so that it was trapped straight up and pinned between his body and the waistband of his boxers and trousers rather than swaying to the side, constantly shifting against cloth and driving him mad.

On the other side of the room, Jo popped up from her own spot she’d found on the floor. She pulled a tie from her pocket and swept her hair into a loose and messy bun, then stooped and rifled the drawer in front of her. She paused to wipe the back of her hand and arm over her forehead before returning to her work.

Her skin was shining, supple, the line of her neck flawless, the sway of her breasts hypnotic as she bent forward far enough that he could see down her shirt. His hand still stuffed in his trousers, he squeezed himself gently as he gaped at her, and it was a struggle to remove his hand like a civilized person.

Gentlemanly behaviour was a very distant concern, and fading fast.

She looked up at him and frowned. Even scowling at him, she was radiant. She was so beautiful, her features flatteringly lit even in the stark laboratory lighting. He leaned against the bench, jaw dropping at the much-needed pressure, fingers curling around the hard bench top edge.  He was behaving like an animal in heat, and it was completely unacceptable, but he couldn’t stop.

“Henry, are you looking?”

Oh, yes, he was looking. At the trim curve of her waist, at the temptingly low, gaping spread of her shirt, which had two buttons more unfastened than was her normal style—

“—out of here! If Tiwari finds Eustace, he’s as good as dead!”

“What?” He blinked out of his stupor. She was glaring at him, jaw set, vibrating with tense energy. He righted himself and shook his head sharply, bringing himself back to reality. “Yes! Oh, yes. Sorry.”

He crouched and turned his attention to the cupboards at knee-height in front of him, but the contents meant nothing to him—machines of some kind, cords, junk. Would it help? He had no idea. He moved to the next cupboard, pawing at glassware blindly. All he could think of was Jo and the sounds of her movements, of the intolerable oversensitivity of his skin, of the far too gratifying slide of his hand across cloth covering hard flesh…

The drawer facing was cool as he leaned his cheek against it and his knees ached from smacking the floor as he collapsed into an awkward kneeling position. He couldn’t think—he needed to be able to think. He squeezed himself again and shuddered. Oh, that felt good.

“Henry, I’m done my side. I can’t find anything. It’s mostly glassware, a few metal rods, and stuff that’s too thin. They’ll just bend or break.”

Her footsteps were coming closer. He forced his hands off himself and spread his palms flat against the drawer. If he could clear his head this would be so much easier. It was the obvious, practical course of action. In theory, there was nothing wrong with it. It was a perfectly rational solution in their situation.

She would surely forgive him, given the extenuating circumstances. They were both adults, it could hardly be considered so shocking.

Social mores be damned, if it would give him a little focus, he’d do it.

“Jo?”

“What?”

Her voice was tense and sharp—and close. She was on his aisle. He kept his eyes closed, because he was certain if he looked at her he would do something foolish.

“I’m going to, er…relieve some of the tension. See if it helps.”

“What are you talking about?”

He was no prude and was very comfortable with his own sexuality, but Jo had proven herself time and again to have a much lower threshold with anything involving the topic of sex. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, but nor could he stand another minute like this. If she pinned him again like before, he was sure he couldn’t resist her.

That was likely to be much worse for her and the future of their relationship than any transitory embarrassment.

“I am going to masturbate. If you’ll be so kind as to go over there, I’m sure it won’t take long.”

“You’re gonna _what?_ Are you serious?”

“Jo, for god’s sake!” he snapped impatiently. “I don’t know what else to do!”

Her silence stretched on and he winced, grinding his forehead against the hard surface of the drawer. He took a deep breath and strove for some kind of rationality.

“What I’m trying to say is that if I am going to be of any help in getting out of here, then I have to do something, and the options are limited.”

“No, it’s—yeah. You do your thing. I’ll go…over there.”

He waited for the shuffle of her steps. He told himself to wait until the count of ten to give her time to retreat, but he was already fumbling with belt and zipper by the time he hit eight. He grasped his erection and stifled a groan as he gave himself a firm stroke.

 _Be quiet,_ he admonished himself, but his pitiful, desperate relief was impossible to fully suppress. His hips jerked as he pumped himself, rough and dry, any art or finesse a waste of time.

Even at a distance he could hear her. Jo’s breath was heavy and fast, and he was hyper-aware of her presence. Far from being a deterrent, it egged him on, speeding his hand. How would she sound, how would she look while in the throes of orgasm? Would she be loud, or silent? Fast and hard, or slow and gentle? Would her wicked sense of humour accompany her to bed—would she smile at him with dark eyes and her striking features, as elegant and smug as a cat as she sat astride him, hips grinding down and rolling under his hands as he gasped and writhed and whimpered…

No, it didn’t take long at all. Henry scrabbled belatedly for the handkerchief in his pocket as his body shuddered and pulsed, again and again, for longer than seemed possible. He wasn’t Casanova by any stretch, but he’d experienced very nearly the full range of what human sexuality had to offer and then some by dint of time and boredom—and yet he couldn’t think of a time when an orgasm had felt as damned satisfying as this one.

He wiped at himself with fuzzy clumsiness, grateful he’d managed to contain the mess, and tugged his clothes back into place. He tried to stand, but his legs were rubbery and failed him, so he keeled over to the side and lay on the ground to gather himself, chest heaving.

The ludicrous nature of their situation struck him as he lay there with sticky hands and his body awash with endorphins, and he giggled. He couldn’t stop himself; the giddiness grew until he was guffawing, curled up on his side with tears in his eyes.

It took a good minute to get himself under control, and he scraped himself off the ground and teetered over to the nearest sink to wash his hands and his soiled handkerchief. It wasn’t until he was wringing out the cloth, still grinning like a loon, that he remembered Jo.

She was nowhere in sight. He left the handkerchief to dry over the edge of the sink and walked between the benches to the wall aisle opposite the vents and looked both ways.

“Jo?” he called. “Where are you?”

She was sitting in the far corner of the lab, her eyes squeezed shut and hands over her ears, knees to her chest. She was gasping for breath and looked miserable.

His first instinct was to comfort her, but he doubted his presence was going to make things easier—her proximity had been enough to severely test his self-control. He returned to the task at hand, setting aside his guilt at abandoning Jo to her misery.

Now that his head was clearer, he easily hit upon the solution he’d missed.

The lab was well stocked with chemicals, and mixing a corrosive acid which would weaken the screws holding the vent in place should be a simple task. He hurried back to the cupboards he’d searched earlier and pulled out the jars he’d dismissed before, putting them in the broad category of “Not Tools,” which had been the extent of his mental prowess at the time. He added gloves, an apron, and safety goggles to his haul and set himself up at a work station to carefully throw together something potent enough for their purposes.

While sexual activity had provided some relief and clarity of thought, it had not eradicated the effects of the drug. He was still euphoric and clumsy, riding an afterglow he associated with the purest, heady state of new love. He’d not felt this in a very long time, and it was like a soft blanket wrapped around his soul, pleasing and comforting. He hummed while he worked, one of the bouncy, energetic themes from Mendelssohn’s _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ Overture. Like the unfortunates of that tale, Puck’s potion had done its work on the two of them.

“At least I don’t have an ass’ head,” he muttered to himself with a snort of laughter, and then had to put down the chemicals while his giggling fit ran its course.

When the careful mixing was done, he took the beaker and a dropper with him to the stool at the foot of the vents. His balance was still compromised, but he managed to get himself up without any spills and carefully applied the acid to each screw, and then a line along each side of the cover for good measure. Now, it was a matter of time. He climbed down and set the acid down in the fume hood for safety, and stripped off the gear, overly pleased with his success thus far.

No more than fifteen minutes had passed, but Jo had remained in her corner, harsh breathing all that gave away her presence. He went to check on her again, this time finding her on her side, facing the wall, her back to him. Her shirt was drenched in sweat and untucked, and her rib cage rose and fell with each breath. He wondered if she were asleep, but she shifted her legs and gave a little pained whimper. Not asleep; suffering quietly. He crouched at her back and spoke softly.

“I’ve concocted an acid that should weaken the metal enough for us to loosen the vent covers. Give it a few minutes and we should be able to pry it off.”

Jo made a high-pitched noise that might have been acknowledgement. He touched her arm, rubbing it lightly. She shuddered, and then rolled onto her back, blinking up at him with damp lashes. Her breathing was laboured, sucked in through clenched teeth, her skin flushed ruddier than before. The curve of her exposure had been longer than his, and with her smaller body mass, who knew what repercussions would be for her blood pressure and the strain on her heart.

“I’m going to take your heart rate.”

“Okay.”

At the touch of his hand on her neck her eyes closed and mouth parted with a pained gulp. Her distress was his distress, so keenly was he aware of her state, that it was difficult to maintain his count. Like his, her heart was racing, but well within the safe zone for healthy adults their physical age. She whimpered again and he stroked her face, shushing her gently. Her back arched and she moaned—deep, sweet, intimate. It was a gorgeous sound, compelling and magnetic, and he stroked her cheek again, fingers trailing down her neck past the pulse point to the dip of her collar bone.

If he kissed her now, held her, he would feel that sound in his mouth, his chest, through his bones. He could trace the same path with his lips, taste her skin, feel her voice.

_Never take what isn’t freely given._

His father had told this to him a very long time ago, and Henry had taught the same to his son. He removed his hand from her face quickly, guilt tainting the groundswell of his affection for her.

Virtue might be a matter of opinion, but honour and respect was a very firm line.

“Shh, Jo. Soon, we’ll be out of here soon.”

She opened her eyes again, her gaze dark. Her hand shot towards him and she grabbed the front of his shirt and shoved him hard.

Henry flailed his arms to brace himself, but she pushed hard enough to send him over onto his back. He grunted as he hit the ground. She kept a firm hold of his shirt and used it as leverage to roll herself over, lightning-quick, straddling and pinning him to the ground. Her teeth were clenched, her expression desperate.

“Goddammit, Henry!” she hissed, shaking him. “How can you be so damned _calm?_ ”

He lay limp on the ground and held as still as possible so as not to provoke her further, while his underlying thoughts prodded at him to wrap his arms around her, to weave fingers into her hair and kiss her, to do anything to touch her and hold her as close as possible.

“Masturbation did help. It didn’t go away, but it’s…” His hands flexed with the need to touch her, but he kept them on the ground at his sides. “Manageable.”

“Oh my god. I—I can’t, it’s…” She fell forward on him, rubbing her face against the side of his, panting loudly in his ear. “Why did it have to be _you?_ ”

“You’d rather Hanson were here?”

“ _No._ ‘Kay, could be worse.”

“We’re adults, and we’re friends. That won’t change.”

“For a smart guy, you’re pretty dumb if you really believe that.”

She shivered in his arms and moved against him, her face tucking into the crook of his neck, hot breath on his skin. He stared fixedly at the ceiling and clenched his hands into fists. She was right. Would he ever be able to look at her without thinking of this—the crush of her breasts against his chest, the tight fit of his hips between hers as her weight pinned him to the ground? Would he be able to touch himself without hearing her breathing, knowing she’d been there, so tantalizingly close?

“Do whatever you need to do, Jo. It’ll make it easier for us to work on getting out of here.” He gave up his fight and wrapped his arms around her, one hand on the flat of her back, other on the back of her head. “Even if this does change things between us, please know that I care for you, and I will always respect you. Nothing could ever change that.”

She shivered in his arms again, and her hips rolled against him. He was over-sensitized from his recent orgasm, and he gasped, his hold tightening on her. Oh dear, not what he’d meant.

“I love the sound of your voice,” she muttered against his neck. She licked and then bit him lightly, mouth wet and hot. “I could hear you singing.”

“Humming, I—I was humming. It’s a symphony.  There aren’t words.”

“Humming, sure.” Her distracted words buzzed against his skin.

He pushed up against her instinctively and whimpered as she rolled her hips again with a guttural groan of satisfaction. Oh, _yes_.

No, wait…

“Er, Jo?”

He was growing hard again, his body making a valiant effort in response to the relentless stimulation. The grind of her pubic bone and the zippers and seams of their clothes was nearly painful, but far too good.

“God, I could hear you, and—”

“Jo,” he whispered urgently as he clutched at her, fingers tightening in her hair as she sucked on his neck, “Jo, I don’t want to stop you, I really, _really_ don’t, but if you’ll regret this later, then… If you think you won’t, then it’s fine, yes, but— _ngh_ —“ He grasped the curve of her backside desperately as she shifted and aligned herself to grind against the base of his growing erection.

“Please, Henry, please please _please_ just shut up.”

“Shutting up,” he agreed quickly, grinding up as he pulled her down hard.

No, he really couldn’t stop her, even if he wanted to, he’d do anything she wanted, so long as she really wanted it—wanted _him_.

Her breath whined in his ear, rhythmic panting, and all too soon she tensed, the thrusts slowing, then stopping as her body shuddered, jerking against him in short, shivering bursts. She went limp on him, a solid and comforting weight on his chest, but he squirmed beneath her, head reeling, antsy with renewed arousal. Dimly through addled excitement he felt her shoulders shaking, and a note of panic rang out. He couldn’t see her face. Was she crying?

“Are you alright?”

He stroked her hair and back until she lifted her head and nuzzled his cheek. She was giggling quietly; happy, breathless laughter, drunken and silly, and she found his mouth with hers. Her lips were soft and gentle, and he eagerly kissed her back, blind with relief, licking into her mouth and tasting the lingering sweet honey from her lip gloss, a tantalizing smell that always followed her when he was in her company.

It didn’t feel like a first kiss. It was all of their hellos and goodbyes rolled into one, every heated look and flirtatious comment, all the affection he kept locked away finally channeled into beautiful action and given the form he constantly denied it. He could do this for _ages_. He never wanted to stop. He thrust up against her again, moaning into her mouth at the drag and press of her body against his.

“Hey, Henry.”

She murmured his name against his lips, still giggling, her smile making it difficult to kiss her to the depth he wanted. She was pulling away? No, not yet, please _no_.

He craned his neck to chase after her, trying to hold onto her, but she rolled off him and flopped loosely on the floor next to him. She looked so young and joyful, her cheeks dimpled sweetly, eyes sparkling with laughter.

The space and sudden rush of cool air brought with it some awareness, and he blinked at her stupidly.

“I’m so sorry, Jo. I should have stopped.”

She sighed, smiling, her cheek to the floor and eyes darting as she scanned him.

“So should I. This whole thing, it’s… I don’t know. Can we worry about it later, maybe?” Her smile twitched at one corner and she giggled again.

“Yes, of course.” He chuckled with her, not absorbing what she was saying so much as revelling in her bubbly joy.

She curled her arm up and pillowed her head on it, snickering into the crook of her elbow.

“Well, you’re right. I feel better. Thanks for letting me hump you like a cheap sex toy.”

“Happy to be of service,” he said with a grin. He was horribly chafed, but he didn’t care.

She pushed herself to sitting as her giggles petered out.

“This is a mess. I’m not even going to think about what the hell I’m going to put in my report for this case.” She looked around behind her, then back to him, her eyes wide. “Wait, did you say something about getting those vents open?”

“The vents…” he repeated vaguely, as the shift of her shirt made the buttons of her shirt gape, the lacy edge of her bra visible against her breastbone.

“Hello-o, Earth to Henry.”

Jo waved her hand in his face and he tore his eyes away from her breasts with a sheepish laugh. He looked at the wall past her shoulder. The paint was marred with whitish streaks where the acid had dripped down from the vents he’d anointed earlier. Oh yes, _those_ vents.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this useless before.” He grasped his head and massaged his temples, striving to direct his thoughts away from their circling obsession. “Yes, the metal should have weakened enough that we can tear it off. We need to rinse it before we have any contact with it. That’s a very potent acid, so be careful.”

“Okay, let’s see what we can do,” she said. “Maybe we can finally get out of here. How are you doing?”

“Entertaining less than saintly thoughts, but functional.”

“Good enough. Come on.”

Jo found the abandoned mop handle and poked at the gratings, catching the frayed end under one of the lips and giving it a good shove. Her upraised arms shifted her shirt and it rode up to expose the skin of her belly, and Henry paused, watching the play of her muscles as she worked.

Jo slammed at the vent again and that was all it took—the metal groaned and shifted, and another sharp knock freed one side. It swung on one secured corner, and she managed to dig the end underneath and pry it off. It clattered to the ground with a ringing smash.

“Hah!” she cried, swivelling around with a smug look. “Got it. Okay, water, right?”

“Mm-hm.”  

He wished she would raise her arms again.  It did beautiful things to her form, like a dancer in motion.

Jo shook her head and snorted as she walked past him to fetch water. He smiled, pleased by her amusement, and turned to follow her progress as she walked past him. Only belatedly did he put it together that she was laughing at his vacant lust, but he was distracted enough that he didn’t care much, far more absorbed in watching the sway of her hips as she walked.

She made several trips back and forth, splashing water onto the vent entrance as Henry leaned against the bench top.  He sank into a pleasant fog, each pass by him bringing a heady wave of her scent.  She chatted to him, husky musical tones that he acknowledged with wordless grunts of agreement, though he wasn’t really paying attention.

Then, she stopped in front of him, facing him with that radiant smile of hers.

He wanted her so very, _very_ much.

He snagged her by the waist and pulled her to him, head tilting to the side as he caught her mouth in a kiss. Her lips parted and he paid each attention in turn, deliberate strokes of his tongue as he nibbled gently. His hands snuck under her shirt to the hot skin of her back, stroking upward, finding nothing in his way. The lacy bra was gone, discarded at some point.  That left him an unrestricted path to slide his hands forward, along her ribs, to the tantalizing curve of each breast. The peaks of her nipples were hard against the palm of each hand as he rubbed over them, and he growled deep in his throat.

She pulled away from him suddenly, taking two quick steps back.  The loss of her body was a bitter disappointment akin to panicked fear.  He needed her, needed to feel her, where was she going?  He pushed off the counter and stepped after her.

“No, Jo, wait—“  

He was cut short as she shoved him hard in the chest.  He rocked back on his heels and hit the bench again.

“Henry, hold on, okay? Just a few more minutes.”  She wiped her hands over her face.  They were shaking.

“But I—“

“Help me get into the vent, I’ll get us out of here.”

He blinked at her, confused, and she pointed to her left. He followed her gesture to the hole, to the stool. Oh. Escape.

“Yes, right.”

He couldn’t hold a single thought in his head, and this one quickly disappeared as well.  He inspected his open hands, which were decidedly empty of breasts.

Jo scoffed in frustration and grabbed him by the arm. She shoved him towards the wall as she climbed onto the stool next to him.  He was distracted by the clatter of her getting a hold on the vent entrance. She scrabbled up as far as she could get and heaved, but she couldn’t get far enough to tip the balance of her weight.

“Henry! Push me up.”

She had gorgeous legs, so long and lithe. He loved her legs.

“Henry Morgan, I swear I will shoot you if you don’t get over here and push me up _now!_ ”

Her furious shout echoed in the vent and boomed like the wrath of an old god, and it was enough to sink in and spur him to do as she said. One foot gained purchase on his shoulder while he pushed at her other leg, and with a wiggle and angry, muffled muttering, she disappeared into the vent. Loud, rumbling bangs and scrapes echoed out of the square hole as the aluminum sheeting shifted under her moving weight. It faded.

Henry shifted on his feet, his groin heavy and throbbing.  Disappointed misery grabbed firm hold of him at her departure, like tight bands of anxiety around his chest.  He hopped up on the stool, nearly going over as his balance shifted, and hoisted himself up to look in the vent. Her feet were disappearing around a corner, and the faint sounds of her cursing could be heard over the bucking metal noises. He tried to scramble up after her, but he didn’t have the leverage to get into the vent.

“Jo?”  His call echoed after her plaintively.

“I’ll be right back, Henry!”

His arms trembled from the straining effort and he tried to get his feet back on the stool. His foot missed and knocked it just out of reach, and with a cry he lost his purchase and tumbled down. He landed heavily on the ground in a heap and groaned in pain, but it cleared his mind just enough to let a few rational thoughts through the muffling blanket of blind instinct.

Jo would find a phone, call in Tiwari’s intentions, and prevent Eustace from meeting the same fate as Dr. Parsons. She’d come back for him in due time. He only had to wait.

He curled onto his side, determined to bear his writhing misery. It was only a matter of time, and they’d be through this.


	3. Chapter 3

“I’ll be right back, Henry!”

Jo heaved herself through the air duct as fast as possible until she was around the corner and out of sight. The insecure, wheedling note in his voice was nearly enough to make her go back, but she didn’t let herself. Besides, she wasn’t entirely sure she could turn around—it might be big for an air duct, but she was still forced to scoot on her belly, unable to fully get her hands and knees under her.

Nope, she was going to focus on her job and find a phone, not fantasize about Henry with his hands up her shirt.

Jo wriggled forward again, scooting herself along as best she could, trying to keep her priorities. It had been at least an hour, or maybe two—time had warped and stretched, and without her phone, she had no idea. How far could Dr. Tiwari have gotten? She had to tell Hanson how long…

It was useless. She couldn’t keep her mind on task. All she could think of was Henry and the rhythmic jingle of his belt buckle and rustle of cloth and those poorly muffled noises because of _course_ he’d be vocal when he was getting off—when did Henry ever shut up? _I’m going to masturbate._ Who comes right out and says that? _Ever?_ Henry, that’s who. Why did anything Henry said surprise her anymore?

Jo paused to catch her breath, forehead dipping down to touch the sheet metal bottom of the air duct. It dimpled under the weight of her head with a thunk.

Damn it, how was she ever going to be able to face Henry again after this?

She’d tried to walk away and give him privacy, let him deal with his “tension,” but instead she’d stood there just out of sight like a creep and listened to the audible brush of skin on skin until the steady rhythm faltered and Henry made a choked noise, the kind that came alongside tense muscles and creaking beds and bruised thighs, and Jo had fled to plug her ears and try to behave herself.

The burn in her stomach muscles as she inched along the air duct was helping keep her aware of herself, but not much. She stopped for another breather and looked ahead down the dark rectangular duct shaft. There was a junction a few feet ahead, and she wiggled her way towards it.

The friction on her body was agonizing, like the rub and grind of Henry’s willing body beneath her.

 _Willing_. That was pushing it.

Willing to let her, which she’d taken as good enough.

Who knew how long she’d lain there listening to him sing—“ _humming, Jo, it’s a symphony, there’s no words,”_ oh, he could be such a pompous _ass_ sometimes—with her hands tucked tight between her legs and wishing she could let go of the embarrassment and get off as easily as Henry did. Goddamned Catholic guilt. No wonder it always took bottomless glasses of hard liquor to make her get over herself.

At the air duct junction, Jo looked both ways. To her right there was a vent to another room about ten feet along, letting light seep into the dark claustrophobic tunnel. She planted her elbows and got her knees under her as far as the narrow duct would allow and slid forward again, rounding the corner.

Henry and that million-watt smile and gorgeous eyes, his gentle hands on her neck, going lower and headed straight where she wanted him to go…then stopping, like it was nothing? The entire papal entourage could have marched into that room and it wouldn’t have stopped her mounting him like a rocking horse.

Henry’s voice in her ear murmuring things about respect and caring about her, the hard stretch of his body under her, his hands all over her, his eager kiss and dizzy smile soothing her, the heart-stopping speed with which he’d grabbed her and kissed her, his hands smoothing over her breasts…

She gasped, shivering. Without thinking she’d rolled onto her side, and her hand was cupped around her breast, nipple squeezed between her fingers, her other rubbing the skin low on her belly as her fingers snuck under the waistband of her jeans.

She wanted him so bad she could scream.

_You need to make that phone call. Eyes on the prize, Martinez._

Jo groaned and pulled her hands away from herself, rolled back onto her stomach and shuffled forward along the air vent again.

She could think of half a dozen detectives and patrolmen at the precinct she’d have eagerly blown off a little steam with back there without even a twinge of regret. Sex was fine, sex was great. Hell, she’d love the excuse to not care and get wild with someone.

Henry, though. What she felt for Henry—she tried not to think about it. If she did, she’d have to do something about it, because she was never very good at ignoring the facts when they got in her face.

Finally, Jo reached the air vent in the side of the duct. There were several metal baffles that looked like they could swivel and block the vent if needed. They were half-open, and she pried at them to pull them open further. She peered through the vent grill to the room below.

Work stations with office setups. Computers, files, and—oh thank god, phones.

Jo wriggled her knees up against the vent and braced her back against the opposite side of the duct, pushing with all her strength until a few of the screws started to give.  She moved a little further and rolled over so she could kick with her heels.  It took at least a dozen good solid blows before the screws fully gave way, and she grunted wordlessly, louder and angrier each time as she channeled all her frustration into knocking it down.  It clattered down to the ground below and she gave it a last triumphant “hah!” before sticking her feet out the hole.

Breathless, she wiggled her way out feet-first until she was hanging from the vent opening, and dropped the last few feet to the ground. She messed up the landing and lay on the ground giggling for a while before she remembered what she was supposed to be doing. She hoisted herself up and staggered for the nearest desk.

It took her three tries before she managed to find an external line, and another few before she could remember Hanson’s number and punch it in correctly with her shaking hands.

 _Focus,_ she repeated to herself over and over while listening to the rings.

_“Hello?”_

Jo was so relieved to hear Hanson’s voice that she squealed a little, bouncing foot to foot in excited victory.

“Eustace! She’s gonna shoot him!” Jo blurted into the phone through giggles.

_“What? Who is this?”_

Jo shook her head sharply and took a deep breath, covering her mouth briefly to stop the laughter. She only needed to keep it together a little longer.

“It’s Jo. We ran into Dr. Tiwari at the lab, maybe an hour ago, I think. She’s got a gun, and she’s headed for Eustace. She’s going to kill him if she finds him. You’ve got to get a team on him.”

_“Damn it! We just had him in for further questioning. He was just released ten minutes ago. I’ll get a team after him, and put a BOLO on Tiwari.”_

“Thanks,” Jo said, grinning into the phone. “Hanson, you’re the best partner a girl could have.”

There was a long pause.

_“You doing okay there, Jo?”_

“Uh,” she said, and looked around the office, littered with open-plan workspaces and potted plants that looked like they’d never seen the light of day. “Um, yeah, fine. Yeah, just—Tiwari shot the place up, I gotta…”

She had no idea what she had to do. Probably something you couldn’t tell your partner without getting written up for sexual harassment.

_“Right…  D’you need me to come over there?”_

Hanson’s cute local boy accent got thicker whenever he was concerned, and his eyebrows would get all knotted up over those killer blue eyes of his, and the way he’d kick back in his seat, knees spread—

“Oh my god, no!” she blurted.  She sucked in a deep breath.  She’d rather die than be in the same room as Hanson right now.  “No, it’s fine. I’ll call you. Find Dr. Eustace, stop Tiwari. I’ll check in later.”

_“Okay… But if you need anything, you call me.”_

“Yep, okay, bye,” she said, and hung up the phone hastily.

Exhausted by the mental effort of focusing on her directive, Jo collapsed into a chair by the desk and let her head fall back. Mission accomplished.  Now what?

She couldn’t think. She was too hot and sweaty. If she took her clothes off, she’d feel better.

She had her shirt undone before she remembered she wasn’t at home—and that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Jo took the ends of her shirt and tied them together, leaving the buttons undone. Good enough. She was cooler, but where the hell was her bra?

She frowned, looking around and not finding it. No, she’d taken it off in the lab.

The lab… _Henry._

Jo sat up straight. She’d forgotten about Henry.

How could she forget about him? Pretty boy Henry with his perfectly groomed scruff and tight ass and accent straight out of Jane Austen, who made great sex noises and kissed like a dream and had a body made for pounding a girl through the mattress. She’d gotten an eyeful once, that time they’d pulled him down off that torture rack during the dominatrix case. She’d been so relieved he was okay she hadn’t given it much thought at the time, but for a guy who spent his time taking liver biopsies and staring at DNA tests, Henry kept himself in damned fine shape. She’d had a few guilty fantasies since about Henry and collars and handcuffs and a lot of sweaty action.

Sweaty action and Henry. Now there was an idea.

“Henry?”

Jo looked around her. Henry wasn’t here.

Where the hell was Henry?

No, he was… She’d left him in the lab. This wasn’t in the lab. She had to go to the lab and she’d find Henry.

She was sure she wasn’t thinking straight, and briefly she wondered if maybe she should have gotten Hanson to send help. Maybe Henry needed help.

So, find Henry. Solid plan.

Jo found the door and stumbled out into the long hall outside the offices. She turned both ways and squinted at the roof. Where had she come from, which direction? She eventually decided on left, trailing her fingers along the wall as she walked, until something rough caught her attention.

A door was peppered with little bumps where bullets had punched into the metal. Her bullets, her gun.

It took a lot more effort than it should have, but eventually she figured out what was the lock and what was the knob. A few rattles and it opened. Jo pushed through the door and looked around.

Henry was by the wall where she’d left him, but he wearing a lot less than before. No shirt, no pants. Some black boxers, that was it. A pile of discarded clothes lay next to him, and he lay on his back, chest rising and falling with each heaving breath.

“Henry?”

He lifted his head, groggy, then let it fall back down with a groan.

“Jo?”

She knelt at his side. Henry smiled at her, eyes half-mast as he looked up at her. He was flushed, and his skin was slippery slick with sweat.

She was supposed to do something. Something about…help? Phones? No, she was supposed to find Henry…

He grabbed her arm and pulled, and Jo fell down on top of him awkwardly with a squeak.  He rolled and was over her in a second, body liquid against hers, searing hot everywhere, burning against her bare chest, and whatever she’d been trying to find in her thoughts was gone.

With a deep, eager groan he grabbed hold of a fistful of her hair and kissed her, tongue clumsy and wet against her lips and in her mouth.  His other hand worked beneath her, grabbing her thigh and pulling to bring her leg up around his hip.  He ground against her with another mindless moan.

Too many clothes. He was practically naked and she had way, way too many clothes.

She forced her hand between them to fumble at her jeans button and managed to get it open, wriggling to push them down.  Henry caught on and backed his weight up, sitting back on his knees.  He grabbed hold of her waistband and wrenched, dragging her weight along with her jeans before he managed to peel them off her.  She kicked at them until each foot was free, then sat up and grabbed for him, because all she could think was _now now now now—_

His heavy body landed on her, settling immediately between her legs.  She shoved at the waistband of his boxers with her feet until they were around his thighs, and he was hard and thick and she was beyond ready. One smooth slide into her, hard and deep, and oh god but this was _exactly_ what she wanted.  She clenched and wrapped her legs to lock them around his waist, and Henry shuddered, withdrew, and slammed into her again with a growl.

It was hard, graceless, and Jo gripped his back and ground up against each thrust, holding on tight.  It took nothing to hit that perfect point where she shuddered and bucked under him.  Henry’s breath sobbed in her ear as his hips worked, and he sounded like he was in pain when he rammed home one last time and stilled inside her, his entire body rock-hard with tension, until he shuddered and collapsed on her.

Bliss.

Pure, absolute bliss. Her giddy joy was so powerful she had tears in her eyes.  

Henry’s fingers moved gently in her hair, and his weight was a heavy blanket over her entire body.  She was safe and contained, surrounded and filled.

“Jo.” Henry’s gravelly voice hummed in her ear, and he mouthed at her cheek. “Jo, darling.”

The endearment was so old-fashioned and silly that Jo giggled a little even as it made her glow with happiness. It suited him.

Henry shifted and moved inside her, and she gasped again. Oh, he felt so goddamned good.

Henry propped himself up over her and she stroked his face, playing with the bristly, wiry texture of his facial hair. He smiled, fine lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. He turned his head to kiss her fingers, then leaned down again to place small kisses on her cheeks and lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. He pressed into her again and they both shuddered, sensitive and overstimulated.

She stroked the length of his back, over taut muscles and spine, as he dragged his lips along her skin, kissing along her hairline, making sweet, low contented noises, still nestled inside her as their bodies cooled off. Jo closed her eyes against the harsh fluorescent lights and let her head tilt back, relaxing into the afterglow. She hadn’t felt this good in so long.

She stroked the nape of his neck, over damp curling hairs, and he made a pleased hum as he nuzzled close, showering her in simple affection.

It took a few minutes before the brutally unforgiving linoleum against her back started to hurt and the aching muscles in her hips protested and cramped. Henry was softening and he slipped out of her, and she relaxed her legs from their tight grip around him, feet flat to the ground and letting her knees fall to the sides. With a murmur of what might have been a vague apology, Henry lifted his weight off her and rolled off. She shifted onto her side to face him as he settled on his.

They looked at each other silently. It was finally sunk in through the haze exactly what they’d done.

“Well, that was…” She couldn’t help it, she giggled. “So, that happened.”

His expression was soft and sweet, and he leaned towards her again to rub his nose against hers. His mouth brushed her lips and she was lured into another kiss, gentle and slow. She sighed and smoothed her hand over his cheeks, his neck, the wiry strength of the muscles in his shoulders, arms, and chest. He put an arm around her waist and shuffled against her until they were pressed together, chest to knees.

She was happy. Not the bland, empty _fine_ that she’d been for a while now, but _happy_. She’d forgotten what it was like, that she was even capable anymore. It was all a tempest in a teapot, but right now, in this moment, it felt real.  For one day, she could be in love. Uncomplicated, easy, simple love.

The kiss subsided and Henry stroked loose wisps of hair back from her face.

“I promise I’m usually a more considerate lover,” he said with a smile.

Jo snorted at that.

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t exactly taking my time either.”

Henry sighed and his gaze moved over her face like he was studying her.  He shook his head, a faintly guilty look creasing his brow.

“I am enjoying your company more than I can say. If this little holiday from reality had to happen, then I hope at least it can be a good experience for both of us.”

“Reality is going to come back eventually.” She touched his mouth, following the curve of his bottom lip, and she smiled as Henry kissed the pad of her fingers.

“I know.” He whispered the words against her fingers. “Trust me, I know.”

And so it was, an inch at a time. She ached in a hundred places, like she’d run a marathon and been tossed down a hill, and she was shivering from cold for the first time since this had all started.  And yet she was so very content in his arms, like this was the only place she ever wanted to be.

Henry kissed her forehead and tugged her shirt up to cover her shoulders. She hadn’t even bothered to take it off when Henry had jumped her. It was damp with sweat, and she shivered again.

“We should get dressed, try to get out of here,” Henry said.

“Yeah, good idea.”  She looked up at the ceiling, scanning the corners of the room.  “God, I hope they don’t have surveillance cameras in here.  Maybe I should get a requisition in tomorrow just in case I need to make some evidence disappear.”

Henry chuckled, and with a last peck he loosened his hold on her.  She sat up and spotted the snarled tangle of her jeans, half inside-out, and grabbed for them.

“Did you reach Detective Hanson?”

“Hm?”

Beside her, Henry was tugging on his boxers, which had ended up around one ankle during the action. He tipped his head towards the open vent above them.

“Oh, yeah. He’s got a team out after Eustace, and they’re going to put out a BOLO on Dr. Tiwari.”

“Excellent. I commend you on your focus. I’m not sure I could have managed it.”

Henry stood and went to his discarded pile of clothes and began dressing, and she paused in the middle of tugging on her underpants to look over at him.

She was instantly lonely.  There were only a few feet between them, and yet she felt as though she’d been abandoned.  She rubbed at her breastbone in a futile effort to soothe the sudden unpleasant thrill.

Henry paused in the middle of pulling on his shirt and stopped to look back at her.

“Are you alright, Jo?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, I think so.”

He was frowning, eyebrows furrowed, and it was a long moment before he cleared his throat and nodded.  He continued to put on his shirt, concentrating carefully on doing up the buttons.

She shook her head and refocused on working herself back into her sweaty jeans while Henry dressed himself. She was sticky with all kinds of body fluids and desperately in need of a shower, but she pulled on her clothes anyway, she really didn’t care.  Her bra was on the lab bench nearest the vent, and she got up to fetch it and shove it in her pocket.  No way was she going to try and struggle into it now.

Henry looked up from tucking in his shirt as she passed, his eyes following her.  She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

“I need my jacket, then we can go.”  It was across the room, draped over the edge of the sink where she’d left it.

“Yes.”  He swallowed heavily, voice hoarse.  “Yes, I have to fetch mine as well.”

They stared at each other.  The desire to wrap herself around him was pricking at the back of her mind until her skin was crawling with the obsessive need.  It was physically painful to keep from touching him.

As one, they nodded and headed in their separate directions to fetch their garments.  Every step away from Henry was difficult; she wanted to hold him, feel him, lose herself in his comforting presence.  The growing space between them was choking her with anxiety, making her skin itch and her stomach snarl up in knots.  She managed to pull the jacket on, but had to lean on the sink edge to gasp for breath when she’d stuffed her arms through.

What the hell was wrong with her?  She grit her teeth and straightened up, determined to get herself back together so they could get out of here.

Henry had gotten himself back into his vest and jacket by the time she collected herself enough to turn back towards him. He looked off-kilter and rumpled despite all his layers being back in place, like he’d slept overnight in a bus station or been on a two-day bender.  

His eyes were large and vulnerable, his gaze fixed on her. There was a heavy line etched between his eyebrows as he looked at her.  The need to touch him was burning a hole through her, seizing her throat.

“Jo, I…” He took a few steps towards her, arms out as though reaching towards her, and then he dropped his hands to his sides, his distress growing. “I’m sorry, I’m still—“

It wasn’t just her.

He met her as she hurried back and threw herself at him.  She slid her hands into the open front of his jacket and wrapped her arms around his ribs, pressing herself as close as she could as his arms went tight around her and squeezed the breath from her. He made an explosive, relieved noise that was thick with unshed tears and pressed his face to her hair.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He was trembling slightly. He kissed her hair and rocked them gently from side to side. “Every time I think it might be gone, it’s not. I am trying to leave you alone, I am, but—”

“Please, don’t. Not right now.” She lay her head against his shoulder, eyes closed as she listened to his heartbeat, his breath, soaking in the relief of being near him. “Later, we’ll deal with it later. It’ll be okay.”

He dipped his head and she tilted her chin up to meet his lips. He was so gentle, so tender. It was calming, the soft movement of his lips against hers, as they shared the kind of kisses that happen late in the night in bed, when quiet confessions and promises are made.

It all was so _real_.

She didn’t know how long they kissed, how long she played with the curls of his hair, stroking over his ears and neck, absorbing every piece of him like she was committing him to memory.  She calmed down eventually, falling back into that comfortable, content and happy state she’d felt in his arms before.

Finally, Henry sighed and pulled back from the kiss.  He smiled at her, but it was strained.

“We should go to the hospital, get some tests to make sure this hasn’t had any lasting ill effects.”

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I need it. I’m sore, I’m tired, but it feels like it’s passing. I just want to go home and sleep.”

He peered into her eyes, the hand he’d had cupping the back of her head now at her throat, fingers pressed to her pulse point. He nodded reluctantly.

“Maybe you’re right. Pupil dilation is returning to normal, and your heart rate is significantly down. However, you shouldn’t drive. I can call Abraham to pick us up.”

“No, I don’t want anyone—” She cut herself off when she realized what she was going to say.

_I don’t want anyone to know._

She hoped he wasn’t going to take that the wrong way. He gave her a sympathetic smile.

“I understand. I don’t relish taking a cab, though, and Abe is admittedly not my first choice of person to see me like this…” He thinned his lips in thought, and he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “But I trust him. He’ll get us home safely.”

Henry trusted Abe.

She wondered what that would be like, Henry trusting her like that.

But she trusted Henry, and so she’d go with it.

“Okay, I’ll show you where the phone is.”

She was reluctant to let go, and so was he, and they chuckled at each other, like it was a silly game to see who would let go first.  His smile drew her in again and she stole another kiss, drawing a pleased hum from him. They ended up walking together, Jo tucked under his arm and snuggled against him, like a couple walking in the rain trying to share an umbrella.

Henry held her to his chest as he made the call.  Her cheeks hurt from smiling, and she hid her happiness in the soft woollen collar of his jacket lapel.  So long as she was with him, everything was fine.

“Abe? Yes, I was hoping you could do me a favour.”

Jo heard the faint buzz of Abe’s voice on the other end of the line, and Henry sighed.

“I’m sorry about your mah-jong tournament, but it’s important. Jo and I had a bit of a run-in with a trigger-happy perpetrator.”

Abe’s voice got louder and sharp, and she heard a few words here and there—something about rivers, and the middle of the day. Henry winced and glanced down at her when she looked up in curiosity.

“Abe, hush. Nothing like that. I’m fine, we’re both fine, but a little…  I’d rather not go into it at the moment. I need to get Jo home safely. Yes—yes, thank you. I owe you, as always.” Henry gave the address of the building, and then hung up. He smiled at Jo gently. “He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”

Hand in hand, they found their way through the labyrinth of corridors to the elevator, and then to Milton-Finch’s large echoing lobby, all corporate chrome and shiny glass. Jo’s feet were dragging as Henry led them to a pair of leather couches facing each other in a seating area to the south side of the building, near the large glass doors to the street outside.

“We can sit here and wait,” Henry said. “Abe will be here shortly.”

He sat and Jo collapsed next to him, automatically curling up at his side, knees huddled up, and closed her eyes. Henry wrapped his arms around her and kept her close. The warm glow of safety in his arms soothed her and she relaxed once more.

“What will happen tomorrow?” he asked quietly, just as she was starting to doze.

“Dunno,” she mumbled. “It’s not tomorrow yet.”

She was fading, and as Henry’s breathing became slow and deep, she drifted.

A jolt brought her back.  Henry had started with a snort, and then he groaned. She lifted her head, confused.

A knocking. She twisted and squinted at the bright outside through the doors.  Abe had his face pressed to the glass, hands cupped over his eyes to try and see inside. When Jo spotted him, he waved. Backlit as he was, she couldn’t quite see his face, but it looked like he was worried.

Henry nudged her.

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

Jo heaved herself off the couch with a huff, and Henry followed her as they went to the doors to meet Abe. Henry kept a hand on her shoulder, a constant point of contact.

The outside was intolerably bright.  Jo squinted and her eyes watered painfully. Henry had a similar reaction, and he leaned heavily on her shoulder, weaving a bit before catching his balance.

Abe made a grab for Henry’s other arm and stabilized him. He raised his eyebrows as he looked over at Jo.

“Geez, what happened to the two of you?”

“Don’t ask,” Henry said. “You really don’t want to know.”

“Right,” Abe drawled. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just need to get home. Thanks for coming to get us.” Jo was too tired to be embarrassed about her shambled state.  She leaned on Henry and hid in the protective lee of his side, safe in the circle of his arm.

“Car’s over this way.”

Henry and Jo followed Abe, and by silent agreement they both piled into the back of the car while Abe took the driver’s seat. Jo gave him her address, and as he drove she caught a few of his worried glances in the rearview mirror.

Henry kept his arm around her, she her hand on his thigh. It was as though they’d become one organism, as though Henry’s breath and heartbeat was part of her. She’d become accustomed to his touch, the smell of him thick in her nostrils, and she couldn’t bear the idea of letting him go.

Jo drifted off again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My guess of three chapters has been upgraded to five... or six? Who the hell knows.
> 
> This chapter tipped us right over into explicit, so the rating has changed.

Henry didn’t want to open his eyes, but a poke to the arm roused him. He lifted his head. Jo was asleep, curled into his side and head on his shoulder, hollow-eyed and pale but breathing normally.

“Hey, Henry.” Another poke.

Henry swivelled his head, still addled with sleep. It was Abe, and he was frowning with deep concern.

“We’re at Jo’s place. Are you two okay? What the hell’s going on?”

Henry rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand to summon lucidity. It was like dragging himself from the depths of the water, and he scrambled for a brief answer that he could safely give his son.

“There was an accident in one of the labs. We were exposed to something, and… Anyway, the effects have since passed.”

Henry squeezed Jo to reassure himself of her safe presence, and she nuzzled into his neck in response. Henry smiled unconsciously and tipped his head to rub his cheek against her temple. Abe quirked the corner of his mouth, bemused.

“You sure about that?”

“Well, perhaps not entirely. But it’s much better.”

Jo shifted and made a soft, sweet noise, and Henry turned his gaze to the roof of the car above his head with a slow exhale, struggling to resist the urge to kiss her. However, when she lifted her head and opened her eyes, blinking sleepily, he failed to keep the daft smile from his face as his attention zeroed back to her. Her answering expression was beautifully warm and open.

“Yeah, I think I really _don’t_ want to know,” he heard Abe mutter as he turned away.

“Jo, we’re here,” Henry said to her quietly. “Time to go home and get some rest.”

She looked around, registering her house. She groaned and rested her forehead against his cheek with a soft laugh.

“Y’know, it’s not tomorrow yet.”

The suggestion in her words caught him. Henry glanced at the red door of her house behind her, wetting his lips.  Going with Jo could be considered a sensible course of action. He could keep an eye on her, just to be certain there were no ill effects from their exposure. Her words were a little slurred, and while it was likely the same exhaustion that he felt and nothing more, just in case it were something else….

“Don’t go,” she whispered as she lifted her head, looking up at him through dark lashes.

Her breath was hot on his skin. He shivered and closed his eyes with a gulp.

It would be best if he were there to care for her.

_Don’t be a liar as well as a fool._

He was far too weak to resist the path of foolish temptation. Whatever vague twinges of conscience he had about the ethics of this situation had deserted him during his last experience distancing himself from her in the laboratory. It had felt like all the heartbreaks of all his years lumped into a single moment, simply being ten feet from her. The idea of leaving her was intolerable. He needed her, needed—

Abe loudly cleared his throat.

Henry started, his attention torn from Jo’s waiting lips. Henry met Abe’s unimpressed gaze in the rearview, and his cheeks flushed hotly.

He definitely didn’t want to go home with Abraham, not when he was in this state.

With a quiet curse of embarrassment, Jo opened the car door and slid out, but she held his hand and did not let go, pulling at him. Henry’s debate lasted less than a second.

Tomorrow, when it finally did come, was going to bring with it a heavy reckoning.

Henry looked back at Abe as he scooted out of the car, trying and failing to conceal his eagerness to scurry after her.

“I’ll be back later.”

“Henry, should I be stopping you?” Abe twisted to look over his shoulder.

“Probably,” he said with a sigh. “But I think it’s best you don’t interfere. It’ll pass.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“It’s safe to say that I really don’t. Thank you for your help, Abe.”

Henry closed the car door on Abe and any lingering doubts, and let Jo pull him up the stairs to her home.

Abe waited long enough for Jo to unlock the front door, and Henry gave him a vague wave to shoo him off. The car engine accelerated and faded from earshot as Henry closed the door behind them.

“I should check in with Hanson, see if they picked up Tiwari,” Jo said.

She released his hand and threw her keys on a side-table in the hall by the door and shrugged out of her jacket.  Each motion was fluidly casual, infused with a thoughtlessness born of practiced familiarity.

It was Jo as he never saw her—relaxed, at-ease in her own environment, without the eyes of the world shaping her. He followed her example and took off his jacket and draped it over the bottom of the bannister on the staircase leading to the second floor, tracking her actions as he did.

“There’s nothing we could do even if they didn’t. We don’t have any further information, and we’re in no shape to help in a manhunt at this point.”

The short nap and brief spell in the fresh air had revived him, and all his much-abused senses were raw and delicate as they came back to him. Scents lapped over him; the wool of the hall carpet, the dry brick-and-mortar smell of a lived-in home, the lingering starchy, onion sweetness of some meal cooked in the past day. Above it all, Jo. The gentle breeze outside had whisked it away, but now he could smell her again, the scent thick and rich and compelling.

“Guess you’re right.”

Jo stretched with a groan, arms above her head and back arching, and Henry couldn’t stand being separated from her any longer. She relaxed into his arms and welcomed him with an easy, lazy kiss.

He couldn’t reconcile the fact that this intimacy was new and not the way they’d always been. Long days of working side-by-side had never before led them through this door to shared asylum, safe together from the outside world, but it was like a memory rather than new territory.

He’d had this, once upon a time. It was so comfortingly familiar to share it with her now.

“How long do you think this is going to last?” she said as she trailed kisses over his jaw, idly tugging at his tie to loosen it.

“No idea. Superficially, the symptoms are reminiscent of those associated with methylenedioxy-methamphetamines, as well as other neurotransmitter reuptake inhibitors, which can last up to six hours at their height.” He rubbed her back as she nibbled at the sensitive skin of his throat. He was growing dizzy and vague, overtaken by her advances.

“Is this the part where you tell me about your wasted youth as a candy raver in the ‘90s?” she laughed against his skin.

“As a what?” She was on to the buttons of his shirt. Her mouth was hot, and moving down.

“Never mind. Least we’re not gonna die. That’s good.”

“They can have some—some lasting cognitive effects for a few days post-exposure… I don’t believe we’re in danger of brain damage, and the strain on our cardiovascular systems has already eased, but—“

He cut off, choking on the electric shock of her licking over his nipple as she pushed aside his shirt. His fingers tightened in her hair and he rocked on his heels, head tipping back. She’d backed him up, and the bannister pressed into the small of his back, steadying him.

“How’d you get shot anyway, Henry?” She kissed his scar as her hands working at his belt buckle.

“I tried to save someone,” he murmured.

“It could have killed you.” She tugged his belt free of the buckle and started on the button of his trousers.

“Yes,” he panted, drunk from her lips travelling over his skin.

It took a few seconds, but the topic of her words sunk in, and it was enough to prompt him out of his fugue. He was supposed to be watching out for her, taking care of her. He took her wrists gently and stopped her from undressing him further. Jo lifted her head, her gaze cloudy and distant, gentle confusion pulling her mouth into a small pouting frown.

“If we drink fluids to prevent dehydration, I believe we’ll avoid most of the repercussions.”

She blinked slowly a few times as she processed his words, and then nodded.

“Yeah. Water sounds good. Uh—yeah, come on.”

She led him towards her kitchen, her hand in his.

He’d only been here only the once in a personal capacity, after he’d coaxed her into crashing a car to save her own life. Even when she’d chosen to share her personal thoughts and treat him as a trusted friend, she’d kept him at a careful distance—they’d sat on the steps outside once the hot chocolate was made, watching the snow fall as they talked. He’d bid her goodnight and she’d closed the door on him, back in her safe little sanctuary.

He rarely saw anyone in their personal, private spheres. He always kept his distance, his relationships consigned to professional and superficial. The very act of watching her open a cupboard to pull out two glasses, barely needing to glance at them, the spaces and distances known and familiar, was laden with voyeuristic, erotic appeal.

As she filled the glasses he wrapped his arms around her waist. The length of her back settled against his torso, the swell of her rear a perfect curve tucked against him. Henry ducked his head to nuzzle behind her ear to pursue the scent of her. She gasped as he mouthed the skin beneath the line of her jaw, which tasted of salt and sweat.

Jo set the full glasses on the counter with a heavy clink and turned the water off.

“Thank you for staying,” she whispered.

“I couldn’t leave.” He buried the words in the crook of her neck as he nosed aside the collar of her shirt to find more skin. Useless to pretend he’d have done anything other than be here with her.

“I know.” She squirmed in his arms as his tongue drew a hot, wet circle in the sensitive dip of her collarbone. “How much of this is really you and me, do you think?”

His hands skated over soft breasts loose beneath her shirt, her flat stomach, over her thighs and hips and back up to tug the hem of her shirt free from her jeans.

“It’s never been about lack of interest, Jo.” Her head lolled back on his shoulder as her knees weakened with the touch of his hands on the skin of her belly. “You must know that.”

“You think this is what we’d be like without…”  She sighed.

“Without common sense?” he chuckled against her ear.

She turned in his embrace, her dark eyes wide.

“Without scars.”

He couldn’t breathe for one long second, arrested by the idea.

No scars. No secrets.

Imagine the simplicity of being attracted to someone and letting a relationship take its course. Fall to temptation, fall in love, live without the nagging reminder of how temporary it was, of the loss to come, of the repercussions. All that, and with Jo—a whole, happy Jo, unsaddled from her quiet, familiar grief.

It was a beautiful dream.

She put her hand to the back of his head and pulled him to her for a kiss. He was stunned by the wave of desire that washed over him. He backed her against the kitchen wall, hard and fast, knocking the wind from her lungs in a rush.

He could live that dream today.

He whispered his affection to her, words to her beauty, her grace, her loveliness. His body was struggling towards arousal, but without the energy for the headlong rush of before. He lost himself for a while, disappearing into her, absorbing the restless pant of her breath as he ground up against her, only upright because of her strong arms around him and the sturdy wall at her back.

“Henry, water.”

“Yes, yes,” he agreed, uncomprehending.

“No, you said we…”

“What?”

Her cheeks were flushed with colour, her lips swollen, and her chest heaved against his, but she gestured behind him. He turned his head to spot the two abandoned glasses of water on the counter by the sink.

Water. Right, yes.

They parted long enough to each grab a glass and drink it down. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was; his mouth was dry and rough.  The cold shock of water hit him and his gut clenched painfully at the sudden influx.  He winced and held a hand to his stomach. How long since they’d drank anything, eaten anything?

Jo pulled at him and he instantly forgot his concern to trail after her with a wild grin, reeling himself in on the length of her arm to capture her hips and shadow the sway of her steps.

She led them up the stairs to the second floor and into a bathroom with cream walls and marble counters.  Soft natural light lit the room through a frosted glass window, sparing their overly sensitive vision from the need for harsh glaring indoor lights.

She leaned into the shower to turn on the spray as he stroked her arms and back, and then she turned to work free his waistcoat and remaining shirt buttons. He fumbled with her clothes in return, each of them stripping off layers until they were nude.

Finally.  Hot skin, unfettered access, free of all barriers.

He buried his face in the loose waves of her hair as she ran her hands down his thighs and back upward, fingers brushing over his half-hearted erection. He was sore and sensitive, but the delicate sweep of her fingers made him shudder and swell with eager effort despite his exhaustion.

He chased her lips as she pulled him into the shower, and the warm spray was heaven on his sensitized skin.  The hot steam billowed around him like a rising cloud. He leaned against the cold tile of the shower wall and closed his eyes, disoriented by the sensory overload.

The click of a bottle lid, and then her hands were on him, cool liquid soap in her palms. She took her time, soaping each part of him deliberately. She brushed over his nipples and he shuddered, and her quiet, satisfied sigh carried over the rush of the water. Her hands travelled over his stomach, lower, until she cupped his now full erection gently in both hands in a slick, loose grip.

Ecstasy.  Mind-numbing ecstasy.

He whimpered as her hands slid over him, and his knees shook. He scrabbled for a grip on something, and found her shoulders, wet and slippery. He blinked the spray away from his eyes, squinting at her, only to have his mouth drop and his body curl inward as she squeezed and slid over him again.

She was a vision, hair wet and cascading around her shoulders to cover the tops of her breasts, her smooth skin flushed with the heat of the shower, mouth parted with hungry concentration as she watched him writhe under her hands.

He pulled her to him and the layer of soap turned every slide of their bodies against each other into agonizing pleasure. She trapped his erection between the crux of her thighs and he gripped the ample round curve of her rear as he worked himself into the tight space. Her thigh muscles tightened and he sped up, revelling at the perfect pressure. He slid across her swollen lips with each glide between her thighs, drawing a gentle shudder from her every time.

The base of his erection ground up against her as he thrust, more and more insistent, more anxiously frantic. He was stuck in the height before the drop, exhaustion and overstimulation robbing him of quick relief from the destructive need. He sobbed in frustration as he worked himself between her slippery thighs, faster and faster, all the more desperate for how much he needed it, to find that peak once again. Again and again, mindlessly slamming against her, frantically driving himself until he— _oh—_

He came with such force that it ripped a guttural cry from him, staggered him, and he had to grip her tight to keep from collapsing.

She whined, her hips still shifting urgently even as he softened and shrank, robbing her of the friction. Shaking, he clung to her slick body as he slid down to his knees in a barely controlled descent. She grabbed a fistful of his hair, taking his face pressed to her thigh and directing him.  With blurry willingness he nuzzled between her legs and took her in his mouth. The water cascaded over him and blinded him, and he closed his eyes to let the taste of her fill his reeling head. He moaned into her, one hand cupping and squeezing his wilting erection.

She was burning and swollen against his tongue, and every clumsy movement was answered with a jerk of her body. She canted her hips towards the pressure of his mouth, holding his head firm as she ground against his face. He mouthed and licked, but was too disoriented to do little more than be used by her.

Her stomach muscles quivered with the roll of her hips and her gasps were everywhere around him in the echoing confinement of the tiled shower, periodically washed away by the rush of water over him. Her legs shook, thighs tight to the side of his head, her grip iron;  he was being smothered by water, by her flesh.  She cried out loudly as she bucked against his face, her grasp wrenching his hair, holding him with inescapable force.  He whined with her, half in pain, half in sympathetic response. 

Her whimpering pants were sharp when she shoved his head back and loosened her fierce hold. He lost his balance and landed hard on his tailbone as he sucked in frantic breaths, his spine smacking painfully against the shower wall.

She sank down and landed on him, legs a tangle, her body a dead weight on him. The spray washed over them as they sat shivering and limp on the floor of the shower.  Henry, blanketed by Jo’s weight, drifted.

All his desperate focus was now smashed to pieces, leaving him scattered and fragmented. A snatch of her voice, the hum of water, the hard shower tile biting sharply against his skin—bits and pieces of the sensory melee made their impression and then fled again before he could understand them. He was tired, so damned tired.

It wasn’t until the water ran cool that he roused himself. Jo pulled herself up and freed him, and she turned off the water as Henry stepped from the shower stall on trembling legs. Jo thrust a towel in his hands and he absentmindedly dried himself, lost in a fog.

His skin was still damp when Jo led him to her bed, and he crawled between the smooth sheets next to her to settle against the curve of her back. He wrapped her in his arms, clinging to her, the only thing that was understandable in a world of confusing sensations.

Her hair was damp against his cheek, her body a perfect fit to his.  He was so very content.  Loved, safe, warm.

Henry fell asleep in an instant.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feelings, nothing but feeeeelings (and a kiss)

Henry blinked his gummy eyes open as a buzz of noise seeped into his consciousness. Above him, an off-white ceiling. Instead of the prismatic glass pendant lamp fixture that lit his bedroom, there was a squat inset dome light.

“Okay. Yeah, sounds good.” Jo, close by. “No, it’s fine.”

Not dreaming—and not in his own bed.

He lifted his head and immediately regretted it. He had a splitting headache, and his stomach was tossing like a ship on stormy seas. He dropped his head back to the pillow with a soft groan and carefully rolled it to the side. On her belly, phone at her ear and face nearly buried in her pillow, was Jo. Her hair was a wild mane covering everything but a small sliver of her cheek and mouth, and her voice was thick with sleep.

“Okay, I’ll—uh, I’ll pick Henry up and we’ll come down. See you shortly.”

Jo pushed a button on the phone as she dropped her face back into the pillow and blindly fumbled the phone back into its cradle by the bedside. Henry thought about shifting to his side, but the ache in his head dissuaded him from unnecessary movement. He rolled his head back, and the unlit dome light above stared down reproachfully at him like an unblinking eye.

“That was Hanson. They’ve got Tiwari in custody.” Jo’s voice was muffled in the pillow.

“Ah,” he said, and his throat was scratchy and caught. He cleared it and swallowed against the sandpaper dryness of his mouth.

“We’ve got to get down there and give our statement so they can process her with the proper charges.”

“I see.”

Jo lifted her head. She blew at her hair, managing to shift a bit aside, and gazed at him steadily through the fine stranded curtain.

“You snore,” she said.

He frowned, about to protest that he certainly did not, when Abigail’s gentle, fond teasing rose up from the depths of his memory. He hadn’t slept next to someone for more than a night here and there since, and it hadn’t come up in any casual pillow-talk.

Pillow-talk. Is that what this was?

Given the nature of what had landed them in this situation, he wasn’t certain what the etiquette was. Even in his most poorly considered encounters, regardless of the following day’s intentions, bed as an evening destination was a mutual, enthusiastically made decision. Life was too long to waste regret on simple things like sex and pleasure, so he’d perfected the art of the morning-after “thank you for a wonderful time” and graceful departure. Forty years as a married man hadn’t taken the shine off his skills when he’d finally taken an interest again in recent years.

He and Jo had been mutually enthusiastic, but the decision-making portion was highly in question. And as for regrets…

He looked past her and caught sight of the alarm clock beside the bed, which read just after nine in the morning, and he blinked in surprise, jarred from his fretful musings.

“Is that really the time?”

“Yep.”

It had been afternoon last time he’d thought to take note, which was—

The very vivid sense memory of grinding against her soapy, naked body hit him like a truck and then receded. Henry set his teeth against the inappropriate spike of excitement, and then winced as his head throbbed and his stomach turned. No problems with his recall, then. He wasn’t entirely sure that was a positive thing.

At his side, Jo sighed softly and shifted to cushion her chin on her folded arms as he draped his arm across his eyes to block out the light and hopefully stop the spinning.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, swallowing down his nausea.

“Better than you, I think. Feels like I drank a whole bar, but at least I’m not about to hurl.”

“I am not ‘about to hurl,’ though thank you for that colourful turn of phrase."

Jo was silent for a long while, and then she touched his hand, which lay on the bed between them. He curled his fingers in response, lightly hooking hers in his. It was a very small sign that things weren’t beyond repair.

With the spark of hope came the desire to roll over and pull her to him, kiss her softly, and confess how much he’d selfishly enjoyed every minute of the experience.

That was a guilty secret he’d have to bear along with all his others.

To prevent the spiral into either further mistakes, or into self-castigating depression, Henry turned his attention to the bare bones of their situation. He’d always found comfort in pinning down the details, of fully understanding and predicting all the angles and outcomes. Given that the emotional morass was blinding him to the best approach with Jo, he could at least make sure the practicalities were dealt with efficiently.

“It would also be prudent to address the fact that we’ve engaged in unprotected sex. I don’t have any sexually transmitted diseases, but so far as I’m aware I am still fertile, which may raise, er… concerns.”

Jo’s fingers twitched in his and withdrew, and she shifted in the bed. He uncovered his eyes and winced. She’d propped herself up on an elbow, sheet tucked under her armpits, her mouth pinched. Jo nodded slightly as her gaze darted back to him.

“Wow, that’s to the point. Okay, uh, no. I don’t have any STDs either. And I’m on the pill, so I think we’re relatively safe there.”

“Yes. That’s good.” He blinked away from her steady gaze, staring back up at the ceiling. “So, we are required directly at the precinct?”

“Yeah. Hanson said she’s got a lawyer on the way. Reece wanted details to hand over on the booking, instead of giving her the opportunity to wiggle out of the 72-hour hold.”

“Sensible. We can solidify the details on the way there.” Henry scooted upright and swallowed as his balance swayed, but he persevered and swung his legs out of the bed, putting his back to her. “I’ll get dressed, we can…”

His clothes would be a disaster. He’d need to go home and ready himself before he could face anyone, or he’d stink of sweat and sex and raise far more questions than he could answer without humiliating both Jo and himself. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands.

“I’ll run you home on the way,” Jo said quietly.

“I won’t ask more of you, Jo.”

“Like it or not, we’re both in this.”

He had no rebuttal to that. Rather than struggle to find a response, he chose to avoid it. He stood and headed for the bathroom to collect his clothing. He was stark naked, but he was well-practiced at resigning himself to the necessity of nude walks.

Funny how most of his most challenging moments in life involved nudity.

The bathroom was littered with abandoned piles of clothes and towels, more reminders of every single debauched moment of the past day. He cast around for his trousers amongst the piles on the floor. They were wrinkled and unpleasant, thick with dust and grit and reeking of sweat, but he set his mouth and shook them out anyway.

“Here.”

Jo was in the doorway, dressed in a soft blue robe, her hair swept up in a loose bun. She glanced him over before she looked away, and Henry moved his trousers in front of him to discreetly cover himself. She had clothes in her hand, a t-shirt and soft flannel bottoms. She held them out to him.

“Thought this might be more comfortable, just for the ride.”

Henry took them from her.

“Thank you.”

She smiled briefly and left. From the hall, he heard the creak of floorboards as she returned to her room.

Henry discarded his suit and pulled on the soft clothing. Both items were large enough that he drew the immediate conclusion: they’d been Sean’s. They hung on his frame—Sean had been a tall man with a few inches on Henry; more on par with Lucas’ lanky height, but with a broader stature.

The loose fit gave Henry the look of a young man not yet filled out; an interloper in a bad costume, poorly fitting into the space he’d usurped.

He shouldn’t be here. He hadn’t earned the right to be here with her.

He stared at his glum, pale face in the mirror, that of a stranger despite his unchanging features. He pulled the bottoms up higher and rolled the waistband once to get them to fit. He splashed water on his face and cupped his hand to drink some water. It was enough to bring him away from the uncertain edge of illness, but the nausea still clung on in the background.

Not yet ready to face Jo, Henry set about tidying the bathroom. He folded their clothes and the towels, and wiped up the water on the floor that had run onto the floor during their shower the night before.

He groped for the edge of the counter to steady himself as another painfully sharp memory—her welcoming kiss as he pressed her to the wall in the kitchen, declarations pouring from him like water—blanked the present moment out of existence before easing again. He took several slow breaths to calm his racing heart and continued to methodically wipe up the floor.

He was romanticizing a decidedly unromantic situation. He needed to get hold of himself. If only it had been just sex, rather than a chemically-driven ride through illusory intimacy and closeness—through love. It was like food dangled before a starving man suddenly yanked from reach.

The bathroom in order and with no further delays available to him without it looking as though he were hiding, he left the bathroom with his old clothes in hand. A clatter from downstairs in the kitchen gave away Jo’s location.

Henry considered making a quiet exit while she was occupied, hailing a cab and making his own way, but the need to review their statements took precedence over his discomfort. He continued down the stairs, passing the front door with only one more tempted glance, and went to the kitchen.

Jo had already groomed and dressed herself, in one of the plain, loose blouses she preferred, partnered with black jeans. She was downing a cup of coffee, and on hearing him enter the kitchen she grabbed another mug from a hook below the cupboard and poured another. She slid it towards him on the counter.

“Figured we could use it. Milk’s in the fridge if you want it.”

“Milk is for tea. A good cup of coffee is properly taken black,” he said.

Jo looked up with a bemused expression, and Henry curtailed the following facts on bitterness as it pertained to the quality of bean roasting. Perhaps now was not the time, no matter how widely misunderstood caffeinated beverages were in society these days.

She was standing next to the sink—the sink where he’d run his hands over her body like he owned her, where he’d let himself believe it was all real. The sunshine streaming through the little window lit her profile in tones of gold; she’d put on a little makeup to mask her pallor, highlighting the apples of her cheeks a delicate dusky pink against the golden glow.

If he hadn’t woken up next to her, he’d not have guessed anything was amiss with her this morning. Jo, as he saw her every day. His colleague; case in hand, badge on her belt—intelligent, clever, quick-witted. Radiant. Beautiful.

Henry felt the fool standing in her kitchen, a rumpled cad in her dead husband’s clothing.

“I’m almost ready to go if you are,” Jo said. She took a last sip of her coffee and put it in the sink. “Like you said, we should talk over the details for the report.”

The details were simple. He’d pursued Tiwari without Jo, and aired his theories in hopes of shocking Tiwari into confession. No—to confirm that he was _right_ , that his deductions had been spot-on yet again. He’d pandered to his pride and ego, thinking that the repercussions would be his alone if anything went wrong. That’s what had brought them here.

Jo kept throwing herself in the way as though he required protection. The longer they associated, the more risks she took because of the risks _he_ took. The consequences weren’t the same for them, but she didn’t know that. To her, all she saw was her reckless colleague tossing himself in harm’s way at every turn. He dragged her into these situations because her duty and sense of loyalty wouldn’t allow her to do otherwise.

He took a quick step towards her and then halted when she tensed.

“Jo, I’m sorry. For all of this. I know that there’s no apology equal to the task, but please know that I regret every single foolish decision I made that put us in this position.”

Her expression was inscrutable, and he didn’t know if it was his own upset that dampened his intuition, or if she was far too good at keeping things from him.

“You are stubborn, bull-headed, and kind of an idiot sometimes, Henry, but you never could have seen this coming. I don’t blame you for this. I wouldn’t say it was all…” She cut off with a sigh and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We were—are—in the same boat. We did some stupid things, but we both did them.”

He nodded, mouth dry. He kept silent, letting her lead them where she would. Flutters of hope rose again. Never mind that he knew very well all the reasons he kept Jo at arms length, and why she did so in return, and that none of it had been real. The temptation to hide in the illusion that they’d made a choice, that they were here because they’d intended it, was too strong. He needed to feel like he had some agency in all this, even though his control of events was long gone.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too,” she said. “I know you tried to keep it from going too far, and I appreciate that. I could have done a better job at helping with that, but I didn’t. So, if there’s blame to go around, we can share it. But… I think I just want to move on.”

“Yes, of course.” He set aside his guilty longing and smiled gently. “Very reasonable.”

He’d promised her this wouldn’t change how he felt for her. He’d believed it at the time. He wasn’t sure he could keep that promise, but he would keep all appearances of doing so. Up until now he’d kept his attraction to Jo as a pleasant personal indulgence, unspoken and un-acted upon. He could do so again.

“You want your coffee?” she asked.

He nodded and set his clothes on one of the kitchen chairs tucked by the door and next to the little square breakfast table. He crossed over to the counter and paused in reaching for the cup as she turned towards him, eyes large and vulnerable.

After having such free, unlimited access to her, the proximity was unbearable. His fingers fell short of the cup handle and he didn’t bother to try again. He was too distracted by her to give a damn about it.

Her chin tilted up, her lips parted, her eyes fixed on his mouth, and he automatically swayed closer to her. There were bare inches between them when he stepped outside his captivated senses long enough to reflect on what he was doing. He should stop. He should think this through.

However, patience and restraint were not among Henry’s many traits. If it was a mistake, then at least it was one he would choose to make. Maybe he was doing this purely because he _could_ choose. Or, possibly, the drug’s effects had not yet worn off. It was impossible to know.

He leaned in the last bit until his lips pressed against hers in a tentative kiss.

His breath shook on the exhale as her palm settled on his chest, over his heart, and the touch of her tongue to his bottom lip as she deepened the kiss reassured him that he’d not misread her intentions.

An impossibly long second later, she pulled back. They stared at each other, wide-eyed and breathless.

“I don’t know what’s real anymore,” she whispered.

“Nor do I,” he confessed.

He put his hand over hers and caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. He was too rattled to do more than gaze at her, perfectly at a loss. So much for pretense.

“We—we have to go,” she said finally.

“So we do.”

They reluctantly parted. Henry grabbed up his suit and slipped on his shoes to follow Jo out onto the steps of her home. Jo was in the doorway when she stopped, staring outside into the sunny daylight, blocking his way.

“Crap.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Henry touched her elbow, alarmed.

She made a frustrated grunt, and waved a hand at the street in front of her house.

“My car isn’t here—it’s still at Milton-Finch’s R&D location downtown.”

Henry looked down at his ill-fitting, overly casual outfit, at Jo’s tired irritation, and weighed his options against the consequences. Well, he couldn’t make things worse at this point.

 

***

 

“Abe’s Taxi, at your service,” Abe said through the passenger window of his car as he ducked and peered out at them. “Where to this time, folks?”

Henry debated the seating arrangements, and settled on opening the back passenger door for Jo and taking the front seat beside Abe. Jo slouched down in her seat as though trying to take up as little space as possible, while Henry gave Abe a pleading look as he buckled his seatbelt. Though he hardly expected to get away scot-free from Abe’s teasing, he hoped Abe would moderate himself for Jo’s sake.

“We need to pick up Jo’s car, and I need to get home and change.”

Abe looked him over, poorly hiding his amusement, then shrugged as he pulled out into the road.

“You sure? I like the casual look, very college campus. Those plaid pyjama pants are popular with the younger set these days, I see kids going by all the time wearing ‘em.”

“Abe,” Henry hissed between his teeth. “Really not the time.”

Abe harrumphed to cover a laugh.

“Alright, alright.” He looked in the rearview mirror. “How you doing, Jo?”

“Been better. Um…thanks for helping us out, Abe.”

Abe’s expression softened, and his brows furrowed slightly as his eyes flicked back to the road.

“Yeah, no worries, kid. Any time.”

To Henry’s relief, Abe turned the topic of conversation to the generic standby of the coming week’s weather. There was cold weather headed their way, possibly bringing the first snow of the season.

“So, is murder a seasonal business? You know, do you get more in winter, summer?” He looked in the rearview again, addressing Jo.

“Summer. Everyone’s cranky and hot.”

“You’re more likely to freeze to death than be murdered during a cold snap,” Henry added, gazing out the window at the passing streets. “A more peaceful alternative to a violent end.”

Abe slid a curious glance his way, and Henry cleared his throat, aware he’d been running his mouth without thought again. He shook his head and resumed his perusal of the passing streets.

“Okay, here we go,” Abe said.

Abe parked the car behind Jo’s, and Jo flung open her door. She paused, and Henry turned in his seat to look back at her.

“I’ll pick you up?” she asked.

“Or I could meet you at the precinct. That might be simpler.” He offered her the out to avoid his company if she wished, but she shook her head.

“We have to talk about the—uh, the report.”

Henry glanced towards Abe, who was hunched forward and looking up out the windshield like he was inspecting the sky studiously for snowflakes. It was the poorest show of not listening he’d ever seen, and Henry rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“Yes, the report. Very well, I’ll only be ten minutes or so.”

“I’ll swing around and pick up some coffees, then be there.” Jo shuffled out and shut the door behind her.

Abe held out until Jo was in her car and got back into the stream of traffic headed for the store before he turned on Henry.

“Okay, explain.”

“Abe—”

“Oh no, don’t you ‘Abe’ me. If I’m going to be fishing you out of more than the river, I want to know what it’s about. What the hell happened?”

Henry winced and rubbed his temples, his stomach jarring at the sharp swerve as Abe gunned through an intersection to make the light.

“I told you last night, there was an accident.”

“Not good enough. You both look like death warmed over. In your case, I’ve come to expect it once in a while, but is Jo okay?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t get a chance to talk.”

“Right, so no _talking_ last night. Figures, after that back seat performance.”

“Abe,” Henry groaned. He leaned his aching head against the cold window.

“So are you two, y’know, a Thing now?”

“I don’t know!” Henry snapped. “Damn it, Abe, enough!”

“Okay, okay.” Abe snuck a glance at him before turning onto their street. “Sorry, Pops.”

Henry had long suspected that Abe reserved the familial address to wheedle his way out from under Henry’s ire—and it usually worked. Henry sighed in defeat. His son could be trying, but he was well intentioned and a good man at heart.

“I apologize for my poor humour. I’m not feeling my best, neither of us are. The short story is that our judgment was severely compromised. Things were done and said that...that really can’t be taken back.” At Abe’s intake of breath, Henry held up a hand. “And no, I will not be supplying the long story. I don’t know yet what will happen. I can only hope it’ll end well.”

Abe’s fingers tightened on the wheel as he deftly found a parking spot by the shop. He shut the engine off and twisted towards Henry.

“Did you tell her? Is that what this is about?”

“Tell her…” He frowned at Abe. Abe raised his eyebrows to prompt him and Henry abruptly clued in. “What, about me? No! Are you mad? Certainly not.”

“Oh.” Abe relaxed back in his seat, and Henry noted the flash of disappointment.

Abe had been dropping more and more frequent hints that Henry should bring Jo into his confidence. Henry had chosen to turn a blind eye to the increasingly less subtle suggestions. He shook his head firmly and opened his door to slide out.

“Now would be a very poor time indeed.”

“There’s never a good one,” Abe said to him across the roof of the car as he locked it.

“A discussion for the future, alright? For now, I have to get ready. Jo and I are expected at the precinct to detail the charges and evidence against our murder suspect.”

Henry waited by the shop door, shoulders hunched against the cold wind whipping through his thin t-shirt, while Abe pulled his keys from his pocket and came to unlock it. The bell jingled as they entered and Henry strode off quickly for the upstairs.

“Henry,” Abe called after him.

Henry paused in the doorway to the staircase and looked back. Abe had his hands on his hips, mouth pursed in concern.

“I hope it pans out okay.”

Henry nodded slowly, and managed a brief smile.

“As do I, Abe. As do I.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there's only one more chapter after this. Famous last words.

Jo put her foot on the brake pedal and made it look like she was getting ready to drive, but as soon as Abe’s car had pulled out from behind hers and disappeared down the block, Jo leaned her head back against the headrest.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it,” she muttered, then let out a long, frustrated growl.

She sucked in as deep a breath as she could and straightened up, shoving the keys into the ignition. She wasn’t going to cry. Forget it, not happening.

Giving Henry some clothes to wear was the decent thing to do, that was all. It should have been fine, not some big emotional deal.  But there he was, standing in the house she’d shared with Sean, wearing his clothes, and such a wave of guilt came over her that she could barely look at him.

It felt like she was cheating, and in their _home_. Jo wanted to throw him out the door and scream at him to never come back.

Instead she’d kissed him, and wanted to tell him to never leave.

Whatever she felt for Henry had been torn wide open and magnified to unreasonable proportions, and layered on top of everything else going on in her heart, it was almost unbearable. She’d barely started accepted the fact that Henry was important to her and that she had real feelings for him. She thought that part of her had died with Sean, and now here she was…

Oh, damn it she _was_ going to cry.

Jo sniffed hard and blinked away the tears. No. She wasn’t going to waste the ten minutes she had crying in her car. She’d kept it together the whole ride, what with Abe doing a good job of keeping up conversation to cover the awkwardness.  She was going to get a giant fancy sugary drink and a bagel, and when she picked up Henry she was going to have herself together.

Lasting effects, Henry had said yesterday.  She’d probably feel better with a little food, and as the day went on.  So, get through this first, think later. There was lots to do today instead of moping around worrying about her disintegrating personal life.

She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to work with Henry like nothing had happened.  Could she look at him without seeing that polite, kind smile change as his jaw dropped, his eyes squeezed closed, body shuddering and fingers digging into her shoulders as she slid her hands over him, every single piece of him focused on her, what she was doing to him—

_Bagel. Coffee. Eyes on the prize._

She’d always been a goal-oriented thinker. It’d always gotten her through before, and there was no reason it should fail her now.

 

***

 

Jo rolled up to Abe’s Antiques just as Henry was exiting the building.  She stopped the car long enough for him to slide in and shut the door before they were off for the precinct.

“Detective,” Henry said in greeting with a pleasant and distant smile. He accepted the coffee she handed him with a nod. “Thank you, very kind.”

“No problem.”

It was a scene they’d played out many times since they started working together, down to the excruciatingly polite and formal greeting.  Right about now she’d be tossing information at him about the latest homicide victim, with Henry throwing deductions and conclusions right back, nine out of ten of which would turn out to be right once they got on the scene.

What she wouldn’t give to pretend this was another day like any other.  However, she set her teeth and accepted the inevitable.

“So, we’ve got to agree on what happened.”

“Yes.” Henry took a sip of his coffee, thinking. “It should be relatively straight-forward.”

“I don’t think anything about this is straight-forward,” she muttered.

“Your ability to catalogue and retain the specific details of events makes you a credit to your profession, Detective, but you are over-thinking the conclusions others will draw.  No matter how many trees are in the forest, the overall picture remains the same.”

_The specific details of events._  She snorted indelicately, caught between being completely offended and admiring his natural talent for being both incredibly insightful and incredibly insensitive at the same time.  She cast an annoyed look at him, and he offered her a bland half-smile with his eyes slightly narrowed, like he was anticipating her returning shot.

He was nothing like the guy she’d left with Abe, with the soft smile and tired, concerned eyes who had a tether tied to every single beat of her heart. It wasn’t just the suit and tie, or his hair styled back to the meticulously groomed look instead of fluffy, crazy bed-hair.  His manner, his attitude, from the way he held his head to the tone of his voice, was like…

He was exactly like the Henry she first met months ago. The smart-ass in the morgue who had way too much territorial confidence in his little kingdom, the suspect who’d settled into the hot seat with remote, superior disinterest, hands clasped loosely in his lap as if nothing mattered, fending her off with creepy answers wrapped in polite indifference.

Where was the guy who’d held her when she was out of her mind, promising that nothing would change?  Sure, maybe she wasn’t ready for the open-hearted guy who’d kissed her in her kitchen this morning, but she didn’t want Henry’s distant act either.

Actually, she had no idea _what_ she wanted, but she did know that expecting everything to go back to normal instantly was unreasonable.

Henry was a really private guy; it would make sense for him to pull back a bit.  She’d pegged his whole arrogant, charming thing as a defensive tactic from the start—this was probably just his way of dealing.  She should try and respect that rather than take it personally.

She sensed Henry looking over at her, and she tapped her fingers on the wheel to distract herself from her disappointment. She’d left the silence hanging too long, and she had to scramble to remember what he’d just said.

“Uh, okay. Sure, abridged version then. But I know Reece, she’s going to want to know what happened, why it took so long, and what we did after.”

“While it did take a little longer than it might otherwise have to reach Detective Hanson, you were able to do so in time, and I’m sure you can direct the focus thus. As for the latter, no one is going to assume that we spent the afternoon having wild sex instead of efficiently pursuing a murderer.”

“Oh my _god_ , Henry.”

She cringed at his bluntness, but also in guilt at the excited thrill that ran through her. Bad enough she was going to be fantasizing about Henry for who knew how long, if she started getting turned on by Henry’s cool and straight-forward clinical assessments, she was _definitely_ going to need to work with a different M.E..

“We keep it as close to the truth as we can manage, and leave it there.”

“Fine,” she managed. “We still got hit with something. Let’s go with their sleeping pill wonder-drug. It made us dopey, and we both went home to rest.” She rolled her eyes at herself as she drove into the precinct parking. “No, that’s so stupid, no one’s going to buy that.”

“Jo, trust me; when the truth is completely implausible, even the weakest excuses are accepted.”

Jo put the car in park and turned towards Henry. He met her eyes steadily, confidently. The practiced liar ready for interrogation, with all the answers for the weird stuff in his basement, his subway crash survival, and how the hell it was a murderer decided to take a dive off a building and just let him go. All the questions she’d stored away with Henry’s non-answers came rushing back, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Is that right. Is that what you do?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes darted away.  For a brief moment his aloofness cracked and she saw the same vulnerability that had sat heavy on him when he’d apologized to her this morning, so out of place in Sean’s clothes and in the context of her life.

Henry was so many people at once, and she didn’t know who it was she was falling for.

“All I’m saying is that it will suffice.”

Before she could respond, Henry got out of the car. She was forced to follow him or be left behind.

“Here goes nothing,” she murmured, and followed Henry into the precinct.

 

***

 

Henry was right, of course.

Between her straight-forward summary and Henry’s distracting showboating as he regaled Hanson and Reece with his deductions on how exactly Dr. Tiwari had managed to poison Parsons without anyone noticing, they quickly moved through the debrief and on to securing the confession. Jo typed up her notes as fast as she could to add to Hanson’s.  She printed and handed off the revised confession to him, ready for Tiwari’s official signature.

“We’ve had her in interrogation all morning. I don’t think this is going to take long,” Hanson said. “You want in?”

“No, I’m kind of beat,” Jo said.

“You should get yourself checked over by a doctor.  You sounded pretty out of it when I talked to you.”

_Don’t worry, I was thoroughly checked over by a doctor all day yesterday._

She winced at her own gallows humour and glanced at Henry. He was at Reece’s heels and headed for the observation room, eagerly babbling away to her about various poisons that couldn’t be detected. Reece’s only concession to giving him any mind was one very long blink that Jo had come to call the _Why Me?_ All of them at one point or another had been faced with Henry’s verbose enthusiasm, and the expression was a familiar one around the Homicide Department whenever he appeared.

“I’ll go after we wrap this up. But I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“Okay, whatever you say.”

Hanson shrugged and grabbed the case file and took it with him, and Jo relaxed. She was so grateful for Hanson’s easy-going attitude. He cared, but he never pried. Better yet, whenever Henry was involved, he was already trained to expect things to be weird, and he’d learned that he’d much rather roll straight on past than know too much.

She delayed a minute to get her game face on, and then she went into the observation room to watch the interrogation.

Henry was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, mouth carefully closed. Reece’s tense body language said that she’d already told him to stuff it. Henry nodded hello when Jo entered, and the twinkle in his eye when she cocked her head questioningly confirmed her suspicion.  He smiled a little before returning his attention to the interrogation happening on the other side of the two-way mirror, and a flicker of amusement tempered her tension.

Jo wasn’t sure when Henry’s annoying habits had become cute. Maybe they always had been, from the moment he’d settled into the passenger seat on that first case together with the antique sword and asked if they could turn the lights and sirens on, like a little kid ready for an exciting adventure.

In the interrogation room, Hanson had Dr. Tiwari on the back foot. She was sitting straight in her chair, fists balled up on the table as she snarled at Hanson.

“No! I didn’t—“

“You had a gun when you tried to kill Eustace, Sara. Waving it around on the street, screaming, and you’re trying to tell me it was a misunderstanding?”

“But I didn’t shoot him!”

“Not him, but you shot at my partner, Detective Martinez, and Dr. Morgan. Shooting at a police officer, endangering civilians—we could put you away for that alone. Even without all of that, without Parsons’ murder, your career is over. Athenod is finished. It’s all out in the open.”

Hanson slid the fat file of the trial drug Athenod’s list of FDA’s collected complaints and accusations, and the emails Jo had found between the now-dead Parsons and Tiwari, as well as Eustace.

Tiwari slammed the table in frustration. She’d obviously lost it, wound up to a fever pitch and unable to regain her civility. Jo would lay money that she’d never been in a police precinct for anything more serious than a parking ticket before, let alone spent the night in holding. The strain was showing, and Hanson had her in the corner.

“They ruined absolutely everything! And why? Because people are too stupid to not monitor and calculate their doses? Because the damned prescribing doctors don’t fully and carefully review who should or should not take it? There’s nothing _wrong_ with it!”

“That why you killed Parsons? Because he was going to sink the FDA approval?”

“Fine, yes! But dammit, you don’t understand, he wouldn’t listen! Drugs come with side-effects, nothing is ever a hundred percent safe, and heart conditions are a gamble with everything anyway! If they used it properly, if they—“

“And there it is,” Reece said with a sigh, turning away from the interrogation. “Book her and get her processed. I want this case tied up today.”

“You got it, Lieu,” Jo said as Reece left the observation room.

Beside Jo, Henry made a low, unimpressed noise over Tiwari’s off-balance ranting. He was glowering with poisonous disapproval at Tiwari through the two-way mirror.

“What kind of doctor has such callous disregard for human life?” Henry said, glancing at Jo. “As though the fault lies with those who had no idea the dangers, as if…” He cut off with a scoff and sharply waved a hand towards Tiwari beyond the glass. “The arrogance is appalling!”

“Yeah, well, we stopped her before any more people got hurt.” She shrugged and patted Henry on the back. “Come on, Hanson’s got this. Let’s get out of here.”

Henry followed her out of the interrogation room and they walked side-by-side towards her desk.

“I’ve got to get your official autopsy report before I can tie this up,” she said.

“I’ll go take care of it and be back this afternoon,” he said with a brisk nod.

“Great, thanks. See you in a bit.” She slid into her chair, mind already racing ahead to the necessary tasks.

“Detective,” Henry said with a nod of farewell, and he headed for the elevator, dress shoes clicking against the linoleum floor with the cadence of his quick stride.

He was gone for thirty seconds before she paused and looked up and around to where he’d made his exit.

It was all so... normal. It was like slipping back into a comfortable sweater.

Maybe this wasn’t going to be so hard after all. Their professional life was a smoothly greased wheel, and if she stuck inside the lines, they could keep it rolling along without any problems.

Jo bent her head to her work, her worries soothed, and was able to put thoughts of Henry aside for a blessed while.

 

***

 

True to his word, Henry turned up at the end of the day with his autopsy report in hand. He was in his overcoat and scarf, bag slung over his shoulder, and he waited for her until she’d left the completed file with Reece.

Jo grabbed her own coat once she was done, and he ended up walking with her and riding the elevator down as they chatted amiably.

“I have to say, I am glad to see the end of this one,” he said.

“Tell me about it,” she said. “I’m going to sleep well tonight.”

The awkward reminder made them both look to each other. Henry drew in a breath as though he’d say something, but he held it a moment and then only grunted an agreement, nodding and looking away. The elevator doors opened and Henry gave a gentlemanly gesture for her to go first. She hoped she wasn’t blushing as she walked ahead of him.

“Indeed, the medical world is much safer for having her and people like her put away.”

She breathed a grateful sigh that Henry chose to take her intended meaning rather than her unintentional reference. They emerged onto the street and paused on the sidewalk, ready to head their separate ways.  The clouds were heavy and low tonight—there’d be snow by morning, she was sure of it.

It was past dinner time, and Jo’s stomach growled as she realized that her coffee and bagel this morning had been the last thing she’d eaten today. On top of everything else, it was no wonder she was so burnt out.

“The day someone chooses selfishness and greed over the well-being of even _one_ person is the day they should no longer call themselves a doctor.”

There was something in Henry’s tone that made her look at him. The inward gaze, the stark, deep furrow between his eyebrows—she saw that look often when Henry lost himself in absent-minded reflection. He seemed to devote as much sharp attention to his private thoughts as he did to dissecting and observing the world around him.

When he was lost like this she could stare at him frankly and he never noticed. Usually it took a few repetitions of his name to bring him back from wherever he went. This time he blinked out of it himself and caught her staring. He smiled humourlessly.

“Glass houses,” he said with the barest hint of a self-deprecating laugh.

“Do you miss it? Working with patients?”

She wasn’t sure there was a point in asking. She’d asked once why Henry wasn’t a GP anymore, and like everything else, he’d brushed it aside with a non-answer.  Like Henry said—even weak answers, without alternatives, left you to either accept it or go crazy wondering. Jo stored all her unanswered questions in an overflowing mental folder labeled “Henry Morgan,” and she usually kept it closed for her own sanity.

If all he ever offered were feeble responses, how implausible were the real answers?

Henry tipped his head to the side in consideration, and Jo braced herself for the deflection. She shouldn’t have asked. She didn’t need the reminder of how much ground she’d lost with him—or how little he gave her in the first place.

Instead, he nodded slowly, eyes cast down.

“Sometimes. I loved it, and for a long time, I was good at it. Couldn’t imagine doing anything else. But, the Hippocratic Oath is one of the oldest, most sacred promises a person can make, and there came a certain point when I realized that…that maybe I’d changed too much. I didn’t know if I could live up to what I’d sworn.” He looked up at her, meeting her gaze directly. “If I could put what was best for others before my own selfish desires.”

Jo’s heart pattered nervously at the double-meaning in his words, and his uncharacteristic openness. It might not be details, but for once, Henry had given her the truth rather than the run-around.

Henry might be playing up his slick, overconfident front, but that was also the guy who’d seen that she was hurting and exhausted, who she’d somehow ended up having a drink with and talking about Sean for the first time in who knew how long. He was the one who’d come to see her in the hospital and left enough of an impression with his weird charm, inappropriate flirting, and leaps of logic, that she hadn’t been able to put him out of her mind.

She had her own selfish desires, and right now those were spending a little more uncomplicated time with Henry, and avoiding going home where she’d have nothing to do but think.  They’d found this little window where everything was normal between them, and she didn’t want to let the illusion go just yet.

“You want to grab something to eat?” she blurted.  She shrugged uncertainly when he raised an eyebrow. “After all we went through to get Tiwari behind bars, we deserve at least a little bit of a celebration.”

Henry’s smile was small but genuine, though tinged with the same fatigue that was dogging her. His tongue touched his bottom lip as he thought, and Jo hunched her shoulders to hide in the soft depths of her own scarf. She was about to retract the stupid suggestion when he nodded, adjusted his bag on his shoulder and straightened up formally.

“Yes, I do believe we’ve earned it.”

Jo relaxed slightly and nodded.

“Great, come on.  There’s a spot around the corner that’s got good comfort food.”   

If there was one thing Henry was good for, it was covering up social awkwardness with the sound of his own voice.  Henry launched into an extremely detailed description of an autopsy he’d consulted on for one of the other assistant chief medical examiners this afternoon involving a ruptured pancreas.  Some kind of structural defect in the guy’s body had turned what was supposed to be a debt-collecting warning of a beating into manslaughter.

“One swift abdominal blow was all it took to rupture the defective pancreatic artery,” Henry said, half-crouching as they walked and miming the right hook punch before straightening again and shrugging, hands up.  “An unlikely abnormality combined with the perfect punch.  A one in a million coincidence.”

“Well there you go, good thing you were there to catch it.”

“Mm, yes, I do have my uses on occasion.”

He gave her the sly smile that usually accompanied his borderline flirtatious responses, and her stomach clenched with the adrenaline dump that hit her.  Henry’s smile faltered and he pressed his lips together, gazing off down the street with a vexed expression.  He blew a heavy breath out through his nose, visible in the cold air.

“Sorry, Jo.”

They walked silently for half a block. Jo, hands tucked her hands in her pockets and heart whirring, eventually knocked into him with her elbow, unable to stand the furrowed brows and frown lines, and the guilt emanating off him.

“I guess we can’t pretend it never happened and go on like it’s exactly the same.  But I want us to be okay, you know?  I don’t want it to be weird.”  They were by the pub, and she slowed to a halt outside the door, the warm light from inside spilling onto the sidewalk.  She faced Henry, taking all her courage in hand and looking up into his eyes.  “It’s like you said.  I respect you, and I care about you.  That hasn’t changed.  I don’t want it to.”

Henry swallowed visibly, and after a while he nodded.

“That means a great deal to me, Jo.  Thank you.  I feel much the same way.”

She accepted his statement, hiding her smile and her relief in her scarf as she ducked into the material once again.  She was riding the crest of a series of waves—okay, not okay, back to okay again.  They might take a while to even out, but at least they both wanted to get there.

Henry held the door for her as they entered.  It was crowded, the after-work crowd expanding into the dinner crowd, and they had to elbow their way to the bar to wait for a seat.  By force of habit, she held up her fingers to the bartender, and the whiskey order had rolled off her tongue before she even gave it a thought.  She turned to Henry, a little embarrassed, but he was nodding to the bartender.

“Same, please.”  He turned back to her with an easy smile.

The glasses were quickly slid in front of them, and Henry scooped his up and held it to her.

“Here’s to things ‘not being weird,’” he said.

The statement sounded like a foreign language he was trying out for her benefit.  She picked up her glass and clinked it to his with a laugh.

“To not being weird,” she agreed, and took a drink.

Her shoulders immediately dropped as the comfortable burn hit her stomach and spread like creeping heat through her tense, aching muscles.  She closed her eyes with a sigh, breathing out the stress.  It was the smoky flavour of off the job, off the clock for today, and no more worries until tomorrow.

When she opened her eyes, Henry was gazing at her steadily, head cocked slightly as though trying to read her, and when she caught him he smiled slightly.  The heat of it settled in next to the alcohol.

No more worries until tomorrow.  Wouldn’t that be nice.  She idly swirled the liquid in the glass tumbler.

Jo drank down the rest of her whiskey and set the glass down.  She swivelled the stool back to face him and leaned an elbow on the bar top.  

“You know, I never did get a chance to follow up with you on those soil samples from the 54th street cold case.  I know it’s been on the back burner, but have you had a chance to look at them?”

Henry’s eyes lit up, and he leaned forward, the better to be heard over the noise of the crowd.

“Ah, yes.  I’ve been able to look at two of the five, and I do believe the initial inspection missed something.  The level of lime in the first sample indicates—”

She listened attentively, settling into the easy rhythm of Henry’s theories, of bouncing back questions, of the flow of his hands as he wound through his thoughts, the shine of his enthusiasm.  The second drink came without comment by either of them, and Jo relished the feeling of responsibility slipping away with each sip, all the emotions she constantly found too difficult to deal with fading from their screaming volume to a dull roar.  Everything was simpler.

This was all so much easier in the no-man’s land of public space, just the two of them, out talking, here and now.  Case done, guilt and worry all closed down for now.  All she was left with was the heated rush when Henry’s hand settled on the small of her back as the server guided them to their table.

She gave up pretending she didn’t know where this was headed and finished off her second drink, and she smiled as Henry ordered the next round with dinner.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, folks! Thank you to everyone who's read along and cheered me on! You guys made this a lot of fun.
> 
> And endless thanks to [pinkelephant5](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkelephant5/pseuds/pinkelephant5), who is a very patient and stellar beta who knows when to slide a chapter back to you and give you the gentle prod to try again. This chapter/ending is a thousand times better thanks to her. Thanks Pinky for all your help through this unexpectedly long fic!

“The New York City Soil and Water Conservation District maintains the urban soil sample database, but even their so-called comprehensive survey of the area only involves eighty samples from an area nearly twenty-three square miles in size—the margin for error is huge when such sweeping generalizations on land that has been heavily urbanized for this long are being used to identify forensic soil samples!  I’ve been slowly collecting my own samples with geographical divisions according to previous farming and industrial land use…”

He trailed off, distracted by Jo’s growing amused smile as she propped her head on her fist, elbow on the bar.

He should have known the alcohol would hit him hard, given how wrung out he was.  However, it didn’t occur to him until just now, with his voice ringing very loudly in his own ears.  He was leaning towards Jo, his enthusiasm having gotten the better of him, and their knees were bumping together between their bar stools, one of his gesticulating hands repeatedly touching her arm for emphasis.

Not that she was objecting.  Her body language was open, angled towards him, one foot hooked on the rung of his stool between his feet, her knee resting against the inside of his.  She had a pinky finger at the edge of her mouth, caught lightly between her teeth as she smiled at him.

She was captivating.  Effortlessly beautiful.

At his lengthy pause, Jo’s smile widened, and she chuckled.

“No, no, go on.  Tell me more about your soil samples.”

“My dear Detective, you wouldn’t be humouring me,” he said, mock-serious.

“Oh no, never.”  She shook her head, eyes wide, then leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially, and he leaned to meet her.  “How many soil samples do you have in your basement, Henry?”

His breath caught in his throat at her impish expression.  He looked up to regain his focus, running a rough mental calculation in his head.

“Nearing three hundred and fifty at this point, I’d say.”

Jo pressed her lips together in a very poor show of not laughing at him, but lost her battle and tipped back on her seat, giggling helplessly.  Henry grinned like a fool to hear her, his own laughter bubbling up.

It had been a long time since he’d indulged to excess, and longer since it was in the presence of someone else.  Yet, for the second time in as many days, his guard was falling away with Jo.

He wanted to let it happen.  He was walking the line between pleasantly inebriated and properly drunk, and it would take very little to nudge him over.  Jo’s lazy inspection of him told a similar story on her end.

Yesterday he’d have caught her up, kissed her, felt the waves of her laughter through his own body.  He’d been unable to resist his impulses, all decision-making power stolen.  While he knew they wouldn’t have crossed that line on their own...

He shouldn’t pretend, even to himself, that it had been some grand romance.  They’d been forced into it.  But that didn’t stop him desperately wishing he had the excuse again to do so now.  His smile dimmed as guilt coloured his longing.  

He’d promised her a return to their previous status quo, but he wanted to willfully hide in the excuse of intoxication; let his natural tendencies towards loquacious charm run free in order to coax more enchanting laughter out of her.  He’d seen the beauty of her joy, her smile, her pleasure, and to content himself with anything less was like resigning himself to starvation while knowing that food was on the other side of the door.

And a door, once opened, was very difficult to keep closed.

His eyes drifted towards the elegant line of her neck, and how it married so beautifully to the curve of her shoulder.  He knew what her skin tasted like, knew the feel of her blood rushing at the pulse point beneath his lips…

“Hi, I have a table for you folks.  Right over this way.”

The hostess of the establishment was at his elbow with two leather-bound menus in hand.  She gestured to her right, and Jo slid off her seat to follow.  Henry shook his head and trailed behind Jo, tucking in close to avoid losing her in the crowd, automatically guiding her with a hand at her back.

He stroked his thumb over the bump of her spine through her soft blouse.  It was a very small concession to his desire to sweep her into his arms, to find the heat of her skin beneath her clothes…

They arrived at the table before he was tempted to take any more liberties, and he pulled out the chair for Jo.  She shot him an amused look and shook her head.  He merely waited, and with a roll of her eyes towards the hostess, she sat and he tucked in the chair.  Whether it was falling out of fashion or not, he would continue to use his best manners when out with a beautiful woman.  He took his seat opposite her, and Jo drank down the last of her own glass and slid the empty towards the hostess as she accepted the dinner menu.

“Another round?” the hostess asked.

He shouldn’t.  He should keep his head about him, since both his heart and his hands seemed determined to wander.  

But he didn’t want to.  His conscience was curiously quiet, while his emotional core was in a childish sulk at the idea of taking the responsible route forward.  Normally he was much better at telling himself no.

Jo shrugged when he looked at her in askance.  Her cheek was propped on her fist again, her smile brilliantly relaxed and easy.

Ah well.  There were still a few inches between him and the very fuzzy edge of what was appropriate.

Henry tore his eyes away from her with effort and gave his attention to the hostess, who was holding their empty glasses with a patient, knowing expression.

“Yes, thank you.”

She nodded and disappeared again, and Henry returned his gaze to Jo.

They both knew what they were doing.  Neither of them was so obtuse as to miss the transparent ruse.

They’d fallen into the space of habit for them both.  A pretty face, idle flirting, the shine of alcohol and attraction washing away the memories and the guilt that were too heavy to bear.

But it was Jo, not some beautiful woman he would be with once and leave again.  He was deeply aware of his own affection for her, and what a struggle it would be to return them to the professional distance they’d maintained up until now.  Now that he had the knowledge of how very well their bodies fit together, how she responded to his touch, his voice, his care, he found he’d take any excuse to capture that again.

Even artifice; even a ruse.

He should bring their game out in the open rather than let them run it to the limit.  They could hardly afford any more strain between them.

“You’ll thank me for my soil index when it solves your cold case,” was what came out instead.

Jo blinked slowly, her brow wrinkling in confusion, and then her head straightened up as his words sunk in.

“Wait, what?”

“The tobacco processing residue found in the sample from the shoes in the hall narrows it down to three locations in the city where tobacco products were heavily produced in the early 1900s.”

Jo reached across the table and grabbed his arm on the table, giving it a little shake.  Her eager expression was softened by the dancing light of the candle on the table.

“Are you kidding me?  The initial forensic report said it could be anywhere in Midtown.”

Henry covered her hand with his, giving it a confident pat.

“Exactly.  Specificity is key, and with a comprehensive geographical soil survey on hand— _voila_.”  He tipped his head, waffling, and then adding, “Helps if you know the history of fabrication in Manhattan, of course.”

“Of course it does,” she repeated with a bemused nod, then frowned in confusion.  “But how come you didn’t tell me already?”

“I was going to go out and take a few more samples, see if I could narrow it down to a single location before presenting you with the data.”  He tipped his head closer.  “Save you some leg work.”

She gave him an odd look he couldn’t interpret, and then her eyelids fluttered and she swallowed visibly, her eyelashes thick and dark against her skin.  

He was unconsciously stroking the back of her hand with his fingertips.

She returned her attention to him, her eyes dark and focused.

“Thanks, Henry.  I’m going to look into that tomorrow.”  Her hand shifted beneath his, turning so that his fingertips brushed the inside of her wrist, and her fingers curled under his palm.

“Happy to be of service,” he said, and his voice broke slightly on the last word.  It was a very obvious tell of how much she was affecting him.

He hoped that if she wanted this to stop, she would take the initiative.  He wasn’t sure he could balance on this edge of unspoken flirtation for very long without crumbling.

She’d asked for a return to normal, and damned if he wouldn’t fight to give it to her if it was what she wanted, but…

Her middle finger drew a line down the centre of his palm, and the shiver of response ran through his whole body.  He was so aware of her, of every breath, every movement, he wanted to—

“Here you go.”  The hostess materialized at their table and slid their drinks in front of them.  Henry started in surprise and looked up at the young woman, who cast an astute eye over their closed menus and joined hands and gave them both a quick nod.  “I’ll be back in a bit for your order.”

At her speedy yet tactful retreat, Henry and Jo looked to each other.  They both laughed sheepishly, pulling their hands back from each other and picking up their menus.

After a moment of staring brainlessly at the meaningless words on the page, his mind far more occupied with the lingering tingle of Jo’s fingers against the palm of his hand and his guilty desire for self-indulgence, Henry picked up his drink and gazed down into the tempting amber depths of his glass.

All he wanted was one more night to be a fool in love.  To dote on her with soppy devotion as they talked—nothing more.  Let his cards fall to the table and not worry about it, and leave the rebuilding of the barrier between them as a job for tomorrow.  He didn’t want anything of her other than her company for just a little bit longer.

To hell with it.  He’d skirt the edge for a while longer.  He lifted his glass and held it towards Jo.

“Cheers,” he said softly.  “To a job well done.”

“Cheers,” Jo said.  She picked up her glass and clinked his, gaze steady.

Her eyes never left him as she took a sip, and Henry’s heart wouldn’t stop trying to claw its way into his throat.

 

***

 

They stayed so late that the pub clientele thinned out, and the server slipped their bill onto the table suggestively.  Henry won the draw to pay, and Jo grumbled about a next time as she shrugged into her coat.

The snow had started by the time they emerged onto the street, and a thin white dusting covered everything.  Henry looked up at the swirling flakes in the orange of the street lamps, still small and lightly dancing on the wind currents sweeping through the streets.

“New York looks so clean when it first snows,” Jo said.

“Mm,” he agreed.  “A dusting of snow, and this city looks the same as it ever has.”  He brushed away the flakes that had settled on her hair, head tilted to the side as he laughed lightly.  He leaned a little closer as he lowered his voice, unable to resist the opening.  “More beautiful than should be possible.”

She took him up on his dare with barely the blink of an eye.

Jo snagged hold of his scarf to continue his forward momentum and pulled him to her in a kiss.

He automatically slipped his fingers into the thick mass of her hair to hold her firm and dove into the kiss recklessly.  It wasn’t a goodnight kiss by any stretch of the imagination.  She nipped his bottom lip with her teeth, and he wrapped an arm around her waist in his sharp excitement, pulling her against him.  He had to remind himself to keep this to what could be considered appropriate street behaviour.

They could blame it on alcohol this time, on clouded judgment yet again.  He knew they were both trying to do so.

The excuse was going to wear thin very quickly.

When they paused long enough to catch their breath, Henry rubbed her back and hooked his hands together around her waist.

“Is this what we meant by getting back to normal?” he asked.

“I think we said we were shooting for ‘not weird.’”

“This isn’t very wise, Jo.”

It sounded pompous even to his own ears, said as though his voice wasn’t cast deep with desire, his thoughts gone bleary with too much drink and the desperate wish to lie next to her again tonight.  He had no moral high ground on which to stand.

“You’re the one who said sex didn’t have to change anything.”  She was frosted in snowflakes, her cheeks bright and her eyes hungry.

“We’ve established many times that my assessment of situational repercussions is flawed.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she said with a laugh.  

“Jo,” he sighed, stroking her face with his palms, running his thumbs over her sharp cheekbones.  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m a big girl, Henry.”

“I know, but…“

She stood up on her toes and he trailed off, hypnotized as she paused a hair short. Her breath warmed his lips until she closed the gap with a tender kiss.  He melted, following her as she sank back onto her heels, sweeping his tongue against hers, wholly unable to stop his sigh of surrender.

But he couldn’t let her drag them away from the conversation, no matter how much he wished to lose himself in her.  Reluctantly she let the kiss subside as he stroked the back of her head in a gentle prompt.  Her eyes cast down to where her fingers fiddled with the top button of his coat.

“I’m not saying I know what I’m doing, or that I’m ready for something.”  She let out a small laugh and her breath caught—her eyes were shining, tears threatening.  “I don’t even know _what_ I feel half the time, never mind what happened yesterday.  And that… I still don’t know what was real and what wasn’t.”

He held down all his responses that were crowding and jostling him to be heard, and waited patiently for her to finish.  She swallowed a few times before taking a deep breath.

“I don’t want to hurt you, either.  But I feel so much better when I’m with you, and I thought maybe I could just…pretend it was that simple.”

The snow was melting in her hair and on her skin, dotting her with tiny drops of water, and he gently swept them away off her cheeks.  She was so much braver than he was—always had been, from the day he’d met her and come to know the iron will she exercised to move through each day, shouldering a burden that had dragged him down and crushed him into the ground for longer than he cared to admit.  It took a fierce courage to face one’s own vulnerability.

He traced the shell of her ear, shifting back her hair.  He’d do anything to make her happy, to make her feel better.

“Tonight, it could be.”  It was a lie, but a well-intentioned one.  His feelings for her would never be simple, but he had no problem pretending with her for one more night that it was this easy.

She touched his cheek, her cold fingers stroking his jaw and chin, and her eyes followed the movement of her hand on his face.  She silently nodded.

With a soft smile he bowed his head and touched his lips to hers.  They were trembling.

Her mouth parted against his, her breath speeding as his tenderness shifted, his desire for her sneaking up on him and swelling until he was kissing her with fierce, unrestrained passion.  He was flushing hot with arousal even as the icy wind chilled him.

“I’m close enough to walk,” he said, tipping his head in the direction of his apartment, barely willing to stop kissing her long enough to mumble the invitation.

Jo opened her mouth to respond, but stopped and rolled her head back slightly with a wince and pained groan.

“Yeah, not sure I want to know what Abe’ll make of that.”

“He’ll mind his own business if he knows what’s good for him,” Henry grumbled, and Jo giggled.  He smiled, grateful to see her mood lightened once more, and nuzzled her cheek.  “He’ll be in bed by now, and he’s not an early riser.”

“Sneaking girls into your bedroom, Henry?”  She let her head fall to the side, and he kissed the exposed skin of her neck, warm from the protection of her scarf.  “You must have been an interesting teenager.”

“My father would have torn a strip off me for such ungallant behaviour,” Henry murmured, and then kissed her skin again.

“Okay,” she gasped, and the sound was gratifying.

“‘Okay?’” he echoed, smiling as his mouthing and licking at her skin made her shift and squirm.  She was too much fun to tease.  “Okay, what?”

“Okay I’ll come over, you ass,” she said, laughing and shoving at him.  He rocked back with a wide grin at her heart-stopping girlish glee.  “Just—I’ll have to get an early start.”

“You might not get that good night’s sleep,” he warned as he pulled her to his side.  They started walking, and he kissed her temple.  “I’ll be actively thwarting your efforts.”

“Sounds promising,” she said, her voice breathy, and her gait missing a slight beat as he spoke quietly in her ear.

“I did tell you I strive to be a considerate lover, Jo.  I promise I’ll take my time with you.”

This time she ground to a halt and twisted to face him.  For one second he thought he’d made a misstep in referring to the previous day so cavalierly, but with a deep, aggressive noise she grabbed him and kissed him hard, wet and filthy and very much skirting the bounds of public decency.  He was half-stunned with lust when she released him.

“Come on, it’s way too cold to be outside doing this.”  He trailed after her obligingly when she took his hand and tugged him along. He hurried his step to keep up.

Damn, whatever he could do to provoke _that_ reaction again, he would tuck it away carefully in his arsenal.  His kaleidoscope thoughts finally put it together, and he laughed aloud, giddy as the revelation struck.  She looked at him curiously, smiling with faint confusion.

“You _like_ it when I talk to you,” he said, smiling with teasing accusation.  She opened her mouth, looking a bit caught out, and he grinned wider, reeling her in closer.  “You do, don’t you?

She shoved his side with her shoulder as he slung an arm around her to trap her close.  He squeezed her with a laugh as she burrowed against him, half-laughing, half-groaning in embarrassment.

“Oh, shut up,” she groused.  “Come on, you sound like Mr. Darcy learned how to dirty-talk.  Don’t deny you know it, too.”

He threw back his head and laughed, so struck by the farcical comparison that it staggered him.  He clung to her as they stumbled together, Jo giggling with him, a beautiful and sweet sound he was falling in love with.  The weaving path they left behind them in the snow was a map of mirth and spontaneous irresponsibility.  Surrender had never felt like such a victory.

The long game perspective of his life made it so easy to look ahead to the ending rather than appreciating the moment.  Would it be so terrible to let himself live in this one?  So many things could happen in a romance—lust could burn itself out once sated, desire could dull a friendship, love could bloom and fade on the vine.  There were no guarantees.  Some loves never spanned a normal human lifetime, and perhaps this was to be enjoyed while it lasted.

They arrived at the shop and Jo hugged him from behind as he unlocked the door.  The bells above the door jangled loudly and they both snickered like school children as they pushed inside.  He twisted around and kissed her once more as the door shut, the warmth of indoors hot against their wind-burnt skin, and a last twinge of conscience struck him hard and fast.  They weren’t sober—again—and making very impulsive decisions.

“Are you sure?” he asked between kisses.  One last time, just in case.  

“Yeah, I’m sure,” she murmured.   Her cold hands were sneaking into his coat, and he shivered as she touched his belly through his shirt.   “Let’s not overthink it, okay?”  Her hand slid down over his belt buckle and cupped the beginnings of his erection.  He sucked in a sharp breath as she squeezed lightly, his eyes nearly forced closed with the unexpected surge of pleasure.  “It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

Another shift and stroke of her hand, and he lost the thread of his concerns, his jaw dropping as his breath sped.  His head lolled forward, forehead pressing to hers, and his hands came up to cradle each side of her head as she kneaded and stroked him through his trousers until he was fully hard.

There was no need to deny themselves if they weren’t leading each other on, was there?

One of the more pleasant effects of alcohol that he’d always appreciated was that it became so much easier to convincingly lie to oneself.  

“Whatever you say, Jo,” he panted, going mad with her touch.  “Anything you want.”

“Let’s go upstairs.  We can talk tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he agreed quickly, and took her hands to lead her upstairs.

In his experience, a man could put off tomorrow for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about a sequel. But for now, this is the end. :D


End file.
